


kiss me on the mouth (and set me free)

by optimisticlesbian



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Lesbian Character, Denial of Feelings, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Kissing, Heroin, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kissing, Lesbian Sex, Making Out, Miscarriage, Not Canon Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Rape Aftermath, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 28,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21762031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/optimisticlesbian/pseuds/optimisticlesbian
Summary: Nicky shows up at Daddy's cell with empty hands and a broken heart and gets more than she bargained for.
Relationships: Nicky Nichols/Dominga "Daddy" Duarte
Comments: 24
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Bite' by Troye Sivan.

"Yo, Duarte, mind if I come in?" 

Nicky half heartedly knocks against the doorway, already knowing what the answer will be. 

The ginger is, after all, the Latina's favorite former customer. Even though she would never admit it out loud. 

Daddy doesn't look up from the magazine she's leafing through, and instead chooses to beckon Nicky forward with a single finger. 

"Don't wanna know where that finger's been," Nicky jokes, clasping her hands in front of her stomach as she slowly walks into the cell. 

The Latina greets Nicky's sarcasm with a teeth sucking and a reproachful glare, as per the norm. She gets up from her chair, slamming the magazine back down on the table. 

"What do you want, Nichols?" Daddy says, closing some of the distance between herself and the ginger.

That's when the gravity of the situation weighs in. 

For fuck's sake, Nicky's just walked into the cell of arguably one of the most powerful people in this prison, Barbara Denning's right hand gal. Daddy's dangerous, that much Nicky knows, and if there's anything she's learned from her time in this place, you do  _ not  _ walk into the cell of a drug kingpin (queenpin?) with empty hands and a broken heart needing to be put back together again. 

"I...I don't know, man, I…"

Nicky's voice trails off under Daddy's probing gaze. 

The redhead isn't usually like this. Usually brash and vulgar and teetering on the edge of unlikable with all her quick words and sarcastic quips. 

She's so  _ quiet  _ this time. 

_ Pathetic.  _

Daddy must notice this too, because her gaze softens as she takes a few more slow steps towards Nicky. 

"You good?" 

"Listen, I, I don't know what the fuck I came here for, man," Nicky stammers out, rubbing a hand over her forehead and furrowing her brow. 

"Hey, you better not be back on that shit," Daddy snarls, those deep brown eyes darkening even further as she takes Nicky by the arm and squeezes hard enough to bruise. 

"Told you I'd never sell to you again, Nichols, and I meant that. You think I want your scary Russian mommy up my ass crack? Hell nah," Daddy says with an incredulous scoff and a furrow of her brow. 

"Well, Duarte, I figured you might be into that. Besides, you certainly didn't have a problem with selling to me when my tongue was getting acquainted with your clit," Nicky shoots back, venom rolling off her tongue with every syllable. 

And just like that, she's back. 

"Yo, that was one time,  _ gringita _ ," Daddy says in defense, shooting a look behind Nicky to ensure that no one heard. Couldn't have another crack baby revolution, after all. 

"Well, more like three times, if you catch my drift. Or was it four? Shit, I'm gettin' old," Nicky drawls, feigning confusion as she scratches her head through a mass of reddish blonde curls. 

Daddy glares at her yet again, her jaw clenched and her arms crossed in front of her chest. 

Nicky pauses for a moment, embarrassment burning hot in her chest before running her tongue over her bottom lip. She's gone too far yet again, that much she knows.

"Right, right, too far, my bad," the redhead says before shaking her head vehemently. 

"But that's not what I'm here for. I know, I know,  _ quelle surprise  _ and all that shit, but, uh…" 

Nicky pauses, swallowing the words clawing their way up her throat. She has to be careful this time,  _ needs  _ to be careful. She doubts Daddy will stick a shiv between her ribs for not choosing her words carefully, but...

"I guess I just need a little human contact," the redhead finally chokes out, gaze fixated on the dirty, possibly blood stained tiles beneath her feet. 

Daddy's upper lip curls into a smirk as she reaches forward, clicking her tongue as her hand slips into the waistband of Nicky's pants. 

"Now I know what you want," the Latina whispers, her mouth dangerously close to Nicky's. 

The ginger's heart skips a beat, then two, then three as she grabs Daddy's wrist. "No, I- I don't mean like that," Nicky stammers out, and Daddy's hand is out of her pants before she can say another word. 

"Yo, I'm sorry, Nichols, I didn't mean--" 

Nicky raises a finger, silencing the Latina. 

"Don't be sorry. Hey, I'd think the same thing, too, if some bitch walked up to me lookin' for some human contact," Nicky mutters, a melancholy sort of grin dragging itself across her face. 

Daddy's frame instantly relaxed. She ran a hand through her hair before tucking her lower lip between her teeth and giving Nicky an expectant look. 

"What do you want, then? A hug?" Daddy says, and even though Nicky knows she's being sarcastic, it takes everything in her not to take the Latina in her arms right now. 

Fuck, she's so desperate. And not for heroin, and not for sex, and not for Lorna (okay, well, yeah, she's desperate for all those things, who is she kidding?) 

But… God, is she desperate to be touched right now. To be  _ held,  _ for fuck's sake. To rest her chin on someone's head and to be told everything is going to be alright, even if it's a lie. 

"Yeah," Nicky responds, her words thick and heavy like she's just swallowed a spoonful of molasses. But like, really bitter molasses that makes her want to be sick right then and there. Nasty-ass expired molasses, more like it.

Daddy's eyes widen. 

"Yeah, I do, kinda," Nicky sheepishly admits, rubbing the back of her neck like a child who's just been caught stealing a cookie, or a middle aged man who's just been caught with his dick in a hooker's mouth. 

Daddy rolls her eyes, but there isn't any malice behind the gesture. Instead, she holds out her arms and gives Nicky another one of those expectant looks that sends a jolt up her spine. 

Nicky sighs before returning the Latina's embrace, resting her cheek against the top of Daddy's head. 

_ Dayanara Diaz is one lucky bitch,  _ Nicky thinks, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"You know how it is, right?" Nicky asks, a shaky exhale passing through her lips. 

"How what is?" Daddy deadpans, her grip on Nicky unconsciously tightening. 

"Well, y'know. Touch. Lack thereof, specifically. You don't get a lot of that in here," Nicky murmurs, absentmindedly running a hand through Daddy's blonde locks. 

_ So soft,  _ she thinks. Softer than Nicky expected, really. 

"Speak for yourself, bitches be on me like white on rice," Daddy drawls, rubbing small, soothing circles on Nicky's back. 

"I'm assuming they're all blind, yeah?" 

Daddy laughs, a real, genuine laugh instead of those seemingly relentless smarmy chuckles that Nicky can't help but love. 

"You got attitude, Nichols. Can't say I don't like it," Daddy murmurs into her chest, cleaving Nicky even closer. 

"Yeah, well, you're one of the few who doesn't." 

Nicky can't really believe herself. She must be high again, or maybe she's somehow gone insane from being here. Surely, a logical and/or sober person wouldn't ask a drug dealing pimp for a hug, but then again, Nicky hadn't ever really possessed both those features. 

But she needs this. She needs this so bad. She hasn't been touched in months apart from Red's chin grabs and Hellman's merciless body slams, and other than Lorna, Daddy is the closest thing to a friend she has in here. 

_ Lorna.  _

Nicky hasn't talked to Lorna in a while, come to think of it. She's either guessing her baby's gender with that Adeola chick, or on the phone with her fucking cocksucker bitch-face jerkoff asshole husband who hasn't done a thing wrong other than be Lorna's husband. 

Wasn't like Nicky could go to her anymore. 

Daddy pulls away after what must have been a good ten minutes of them hugging, smoothing Nicky's mane of red hair back as best she can. 

"Anything more that I can do for you that doesn't involve sex or drugs or ten minute hugging sessions?" the Latina asks, hands firmly placed on her own hips. 

Nicky stays silent, her heart pounding within her chest so loudly that it's a wonder Daddy can't hear shit. 

"Uh, well, no, unless you can get me outta here and into Mariska Hargitay's deliciously toned arms," the ginger deadpans, clicking her tongue as she heads toward the door, her movements stiff and awkward and nearly robotic. 

"Can't do that for you," Daddy murmurs, propping herself up against the side of the bunk. "Sure there's nothing else I can, though?" 

_ Yes,  _ Nicky thinks,  _ there is something more you can do for me.  _ Y _ ou can kiss me. _

But her mouth won’t work, and neither will her brain, and her courage meter is extraordinarily low that day, so Nicky Nichols continues to stare in silence. 

With that, Daddy plops down on her mattress and pats the empty space next to her, gesturing for Nicky to come closer. 

The redhead obliges, knowing she can expect a shot for being in the Latina’s cell. 

Eh, fuck it. What’s another shot on that long, long list of hers?

Daddy wraps an arm around Nicky’s khaki clad shoulders, pulling her close. “What’s going on with you, Nichols?” 

Nicky arches an eyebrow. “What, can’t a girl hug her favorite drug-dealing pimp?” 

Daddy purses her lips, a crease forming in the midst of her forehead. 

Nicky sighs in defeat, her hands clamping down on her knees. "Alright, can't win 'em all, I guess," the ginger mutters. 

"This ain't about me _ ,  _ this is about you. What's going on? Having trouble with Preggo again?" 

There's a brief burst of anger that flares in Nicky's chest at Lorna being referred to as 'Preggo', but it's gone just as quickly as it arrives.

"Well, yeah, kinda," the redhead stammers out, averting her gaze from Daddy's so the Latina doesn't see the tears welling up in her eyes. 

Daddy's far more perceptive than Nicky had thought, apparently, because she turns Nicky's face back to hers and cups her chin with her hands. 

"Hey. Tell me, it's okay," Daddy drawls, and Nicky's heart melts when the Latina tucks a red curl behind her ear. 

That's when she decides-- so help her God, Nicky Nichols is gonna kiss this bitch today. 

"I've never been much for words, Duarte," Nicky says, moistening her bottom lip as her heart begins to race again. 

Daddy arches an eyebrow inquisitively. 

"I tend to express my feelings better with, uh, touching," the redhead mumbles, so quietly that she's not so sure what she's said in the first place. 

And with that, Nicky Nichols leans forward and kisses Daddy square on the mouth. 

Daddy doesn't pull away, or slap her, or scream at her, or do any of the things Nicky thought she would. 

No, instead, Daddy kisses her back, hands tangling in her hair and tongue slipping urgently into her mouth. 

Nicky's eyes shoot open with shock, with the sudden lightning bolt of realization that this is  _ actually _ happening. 

Oh, sweet fucking mother. Nicky hasn't felt like this since she laid eyes on a certain doe eyed Italian that she tries not to think about anymore, or since she slipped her hand into the pants of a girl with long dark hair and secretary glasses. 

So, always one for tradition, Nicky pushes Daddy away. 

"Yo, what the fuck?" Daddy snaps, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She's surprised, taken aback, maybe even a little offended, and Nicky doesn't really blame her. 

A shaky exhale passes through Nicky's kiss bruised lips as she heads for the door, her heart resuming an erratic, panicked rhythm. What was she thinking? What the  _ hell  _ was she thinking, walking into Daddy's cell like she fuckin' owned the place, begging for a hug like some goddamn five year old with no sense of boundaries?

This was stupid.  _ She  _ was stupid. 

Nicky mumbles an apology, nearly tripping over her own feet as she tries to scramble away. 

"Wait, wait, hold up, Nichols," Daddy calls, grabbing the ginger by the sleeve and pulling her back before she can make her grand exit. 

Nicky gives the Latina an exasperated look, wrenching away from her grip. "That didn't mean anything, man, you of all people should know that," the ginger says, her throat and mouth painfully dry from her lies. 

"Bullshit. I saw that look," Daddy drawls, her words suave and smooth and warm enough to send chills up Nicky's spine. 

"What look?" Nicky chokes out, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth. Her heart is racing and her palms are sweaty and she feels like she's going to throw up, and this is the best and worst thing she's ever fucking done in her life. 

"The look you gave me before you kissed me," Daddy whispers, twirling a single red curl around her finger. A smirk plays across her lips. "The look you're givin' me right now."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Duarte," Nicky says, and the lie feels like a stripe of fire unfurling against her tongue.

"Hey, it's okay. Nobody's gotta know about your little crush on me," the Latina replies, and her hand moves from Nicky's hair to her neck. 

Nicky swallows the spit that's accumulated in her mouth and averts her gaze, the knot of nerves in her chest growing tighter with each passing second. 

Jesus. How's she gonna get herself out of this one? 

"Daya doesn't have to know, Preggo doesn't have to know, none of these other bitches have to know that Nicky Nichols wants herself a daddy," the Latina says, and every word that rolls off her tongue sends a fresh jolt of…  _ something  _ into Nicky's chest. 

"I...I don't want a daddy, I just want… someone," Nicky spits out, and at last, her eyes drift up to meet Daddy's. 

"I want you," the redhead says, and her voice is throaty and raw and she thinks she can taste blood. 

Fuck. Nicky can't believe this, she can't believe that she's been reduced to a shy, bumbling, awkward mess over some stupid schoolgirl crush that just might get her killed. Just like that, she's back in seventh grade, but Daddy isn't some cunty brunette straight girl making fun of Nicky for her lack of the newest Gucci sneakers.

Daddy kisses her again, so gently that Nicky doesn't even realize it's happening at first. And Nicky kisses her back, of course, because she is an idiot and so is Daddy if she's kissing her right where her little crack baby cult can see. 

The Latina's hands softly cup Nicky's face, bringing her in even closer, deeper. Her hands slide down Nicky's waist and they stay there as her tongue slides into the redhead's mouth again. 

God, she misses Lorna. She misses Lorna more than anything, misses her so much that it physically fucking hurts, an incurable ache, a bottomless void in her chest that will never be filled no matter who she sleeps with. 

Tears spill past Nicky's eyes and roll down her cheeks, staining the khaki of her uniform and making the hollow space in her chest burn. She stops kissing Daddy, instead opting to collapse on the Latina's bunk and start sobbing uncontrollably, head buried in her hands and cheeks red. 

The only word that runs through her mind, tattooing itself on her frontal lobe is  _ fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck-- _

And she's sobbing so hard, so fucking hard that she can't breathe, and--

Daddy takes her in her arms and rests her chin on the top of Nicky's head, whispering soft, soothing words that the ginger can barely register at all. 

"Shit, shit, fuck, man, I don't know what to do, I don't know what I'm doin' here--" 

"Yo, shut up, Nichols. I got you," Daddy whispers, and Nicky goes limp and boneless in her arms despite the harshness in her words. 

The ginger's shoulders heave with every violent sob that is wracked from her body, and her throat burns even harder with every fruitless gasp for breath. Daddy's grip tightens around her even as she smooths Nicky's hair back with her free hand, and the sheer feeling of comfort and safety is enough to elicit a fresh set of sobs. 

"It's okay, Nichols," Daddy murmurs, soft and gentle and nothing like she usually is. She kisses the top of Nicky's head, her lips lingering a little longer than necessary as Nicky's hands clutch at her back. 

Sooner or later, well, later, Nicky's red rimmed eyes that still shimmer with tears begin to close, for only the briefest of seconds at first, and then for almost a full minute. Shit, is she really beginning to fall asleep in here? Now,  _ that  _ takes the idiot cake, yes ma'am--

"It's okay," Daddy says. "The guards don't give a fuck what kind of company I keep." 

_ It's okay.  _

Oh, fuck. Daddy is such an excellent liar. 

And Nicky is willing to keep believing whatever lies Daddy feeds her for the foreseeable future. 

Even if it fucking kills her. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this started off as a one-shot, but I ship these two gay idiots too much to not continue. Enjoy!

"So you just gonna ignore me forever?" 

Nicky spins around, eyes wide and hands instinctively trying to cover herself.

"Hey, what the  _ fuck _ , man? You think it's okay to just creep up on people in the shower?" the redhead shouts, her complaints barely audible over the relentless spray of the bathwater. 

Daddy smirks, crossing her arms and eyeing Nicky with a careful slowness that makes the ginger's stomach churn. 

"Fuck off, Duarte. For serious," Nicky snarls, pretending to scrub that cheap-ass conditioner from commissary into her scalp. 

Daddy's eyes soften and widen in hurt, but her jaw clenches and her brow furrows so quickly that Nicky nearly chalks it up to her imagination.

She was probably still feeling the effects of having a bookshelf slammed onto her head by a bunch of lovely and vivacious C-Block bitches, or maybe someone had laced her water with shrooms. 

Wouldn't be the first time. 

"Listen, Nichols, I did you a fuckin' favor," Daddy barks, sending a jolt of adrenaline into Nicky's stomach. 

"Hey, man, listen. You didn't do jack shit for me, alright? Just 'cause I cried into your chest once don't mean that we gotta be scissor sisters til' the end of time. I wanted someone to hold, you were there, end of story," Nicky says, every word of the lie feeling like knives rumbling around in her stomach. 

Daddy doesn't believe her. It's obvious by the tilt of her head, the pursing of her lips and the darkening of her eyes. 

"It didn't mean anything. Come on, man, you used to be a pimp, for Pete's sake. You know how the game goes," Nicky continues, letting the soap suds drift down her body and down into the drain. 

To the Latina's credit, Daddy's not ogling her-- just staring deep into her soul and picking her apart piece by piece. A significant improvement in Nicky's opinion. 

"Hey, you came into my cell all 'oh, Daddy, I need a little human contact, can I hug you, Daddy?' so don't be actin' like you don't give a shit about me. About us," Daddy snarls, leaning against the wall and crossing her ankles. There's a bite in her voice that Nicky hasn't heard since her last stay here, not since--

"What about your girlfriend? She finally realized you don't got a dick?" It's a lame jab, something Daddy's probably heard before, but it's all the ammunition Nicky has. 

A deep sigh. 

"Daya and I ain't together no more." 

Nicky clicks her tongue disapprovingly, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her body. "Come on, Duarte. What do they tell you in high school?" 

Daddy lets out another deep sigh, rubbing her forehead with her hand. 

"Never fall for a straight girl. I know, I know, I'm a terrible dyke," the Latina grumbles, plopping down on the bench across from the showers. A melancholy sort of chuckle falls from her lips, sad and self-condoning. 

"Well, I can't really talk. I told you about Lorna, right?" Nicky deadpans, carefully stepping out of the shower and taking a seat on the bench next to Daddy. 

"The love of your life? The best pussy you've ever had? Nah, never heard of her," Daddy says in response, her voice dripping with pure, unadulterated sarcasm. 

"Real funny. Anyway, how about you just go on your merry way, and I go on mine, and we don't ever fuckin' talk again? Sounds like a plan, Stan. See you never," Nicky says hurriedly, clapping the Latina on the shoulder before grabbing her shower caddy and attempting to make like Jesse Owens. 

"No," Daddy says softly, gently tugging on Nicky's towel. "Don't go." 

Nicky slowly sits back down, heart pounding an erratic rhythm in her chest. Her hands shake by her sides, and the butterflies in her stomach threaten to choke her.

"Okay," the redhead says softly, and Daddy grabs her by the face and presses her lips against Nicky's. 

_ Not my weirdest Wednesday afternoon,  _ Nicky thinks to herself, letting Daddy shove her down to the bench. 

They're not unfamiliar with each other, after all. Might as well be a trip down memory fuckin' lane. 

This is stupid, of course. She knows that much. She's letting herself get played by pretty brown eyes and an addictive cocky swagger. That's Nicky's job, after all. She's the fuck 'em then leave 'em, the Shane McCutcheon of Litchfield. 

But when Daddy's hand finds its way between her thighs, all her thoughts and worries and comparisons to sex-addicted 2000s television characters melt away. 

She'll worry about the consequences later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love my two gay idiots. I really do.

They go three days without speaking. 

That's fine by Nicky, of course.

They're too alike, she tries to tell herself. 

All sharp corners and rough edges and cocky attitudes that get annoying eventually, because there's nothing left underneath their respective facades. 

So no, the concept of 'them' or 'us' as Daddy put it would remain just that-- a concept. They were never going to be kissy-huggy girlfriends, making everyone in the near vicinity jealous as all hell. 

And Nicky pretended she was okay with that. She'd kept up the strong, tough dyke thing for years and years, after all. A pair of big brown eyes and a weirdy sexy self-assured bravado wasn't going to tear her down and make her walls crumble. 

She's better than that. 

But Nicky's heart still drops to her stomach when she walks into the common room and sees Daddy leaning over Diaz's shoulder, tucking a lock of curly brown hair behind the younger woman's ear. 

_ "This ain't about me , this is about you. What's going on? Having trouble with Preggo again?"  _

__

_ There's a brief burst of anger that flares in Nicky's chest at Lorna being referred to as 'Preggo', but it's gone just as quickly as it arrives. _

__

_ "Well, yeah, kinda," the redhead stammers out, averting her gaze from Daddy's so the Latina doesn't see the tears welling up in her eyes.  _

  
  


_ Daddy's far more perceptive than Nicky had thought, apparently, because she turns Nicky's face back to hers and cups her chin with her hands.  _

__

_ "Hey. Tell me, it's okay," Daddy drawls, and Nicky's heart melts when the Latina tucks a red curl behind her ear. _

Nicky begs herself to look away. 

She begs and pleads and silently screams at herself to look away, to pretend like she doesn't give a fuck. 

But when Daddy's gaze meets with hers, and a cocky smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, Nicky can't help but fall apart. 

_ No, not here,  _ she thinks, racing into her cell and slamming the door shut behind her. 

She knows she'll get a shot for it, but that's the last goddamn thing on her mind right now. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Nicky mutters, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and pulling as hard as she can. She has to feel something else other than the burning numbness within her chest, the hollow ache in her stomach. 

More than anything, she wishes she was high. 

She still craves it, of course. Every fuckin' junkie on the planet misses drugs, no matter how long they've been clean, no matter if they've covered up their track marks with tattoos and a white picket fence and 2.5 children. 

Nicky has to miss it most of all, she thinks. Jesus fucking Christ, she could practically jizz in her pants at the thought of running her tongue over the little plastic seam. 

_ Just a little taste,  _ she used to tell herself.  _ A little taste won't hurt _ . 

But it always did. 

"Hey." 

Nicky gasps (something she never does, she's not some damsel in distress from a goddamn Disney movie) and turns around, only to see Daddy leaning against the doorway. 

"Shit man, you scared the hell out of me. Don't do that," Nicky says condescendingly, plopping down on her mattress and burying her head in her hands. 

Daddy lets out a small chuckle. "Just wanted to check up on you. You looked like a deer in headlights out there, Nichols," she drawls, strolling into the cell and sitting down on that insanely uncomfortable piece of metal that they dare to call a stool. 

"Fuck off," the redhead growls, pointing a solitary finger to the door of the cell. "Get out." 

As much as Nicky wants it to, the bite in her voice doesn't distract from the shaking of her hands, or the tears beginning to well up in her eyes. 

She's weak. That's the undeniable truth, the pounding in her brain that's been there since Marka didn't even bother to read her Mother's Day card. Hell, the only reason she's managed to survive in this shithole is because of Red, and Red won't even look at her no more-- 

"What's wrong, baby? I hurt your feelings?" Daddy whispers, venom laced through every sugary-sweet word. She grabs Nicky by the chin, leaving crescent shaped marks that would sting for hours after. 

"Fuck you, Duarte," Nicky snarls, shoving the Latina away. The burning numbness in her chest has returned, and so has the hollow ache low in her stomach. She can't decide if she wants to tear Daddy a new one, or kiss her until the both of them are breathless. 

And maybe a sick part of her likes it that way. 

"Your hands aren't clean either, Nichols. You up and left me without a word, so don't be actin' innocent," Daddy snarls, low and raspy as she jabs a finger against Nicky's chest. 

"I didn't even fuckin' know I was being transferred back up the hill, what did you want me to do, man? Send you a smoke signal, or an origami swan or some shit?" Nicky shouts, rage whooshing through her veins. 

Christ, this had to be the dumbest argument she ever had, and she once argued with Gina about what was the better part of the spork: The spoon or the fork. 

She'd won that, anyhow. Forks were better. 

Before she can stop herself, she leaps up from her mattress and shoves Daddy against the wall. No, it wasn't smart to fuck with the top dog's right hand, but Nicky had been on an impeccable bad decisions streak lately that she didn't plan to break. 

A hint of fear flashes across Daddy's features, but she fixes Nicky with a steely, ice cold gaze and grabs her wrists hard enough to bruise. 

"You left me alone, Nichols. You don't get to act all fuckin' high and mighty," Daddy spits, fire burning behind those big brown eyes. She ought to take a shiv to Nicky's throat, press until the skin breaks,  _ yes,  _ watch the blood stain the razor and drip down her hand-- 

But there's no way in hell she can bring herself to.

Because this smart-mouthed, gorgeous, despicable, hilarious, idiotic redheaded  _ cunt  _ is the love of her life, and there ain't jack shit she can do about it no more. 

"I didn't want to leave you," Nicky says softly, so gently that Daddy isn't sure she's said anything at all. 

"Yes, I wanted to get the fuck out of here. Who wouldn't? But never,  _ ever,  _ for a  _ minute,  _ did I want to leave you. Do you know why?" Nicky growls, and  _ holy fuck Nichols is hot when she's angry--  _

Daddy's grip on Nicky's wrists loosens, and the burning hatred she's been staring at the redhead with begins to fade. 

"Because I fucking love you," Nicky says, her voice a low, infuriated whisper that makes Daddy's heart skip a beat. 

"So get over your shit and tell me what the fuck you want, because I feel like I'm one of the Three Stooges when there's really only two of--" 

Daddy slams her lips against Nicky's, teeth clashing and hands tangling in hair. There's nothing tender or sweet about it, and maybe, just  _ maybe,  _ they like it that way. 

" _ That's  _ what the fuck I want, Nichols," Daddy hisses, shoving Nicky away and leaving her cell without another word. 

Nicky feels a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, lips kiss bruised and chest heaving with every breath. 

"Well, Duarte, you're in luck, 'cause that's what I want too," she whispers to an empty room, clit throbbing underneath her khakis. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! *youtuber voice* Leave a comment down below!


	4. Chapter 4

_ "Holy shit," Nicky moaned, wrapping her legs around Daddy's waist.  _

_ "You got some skills there, Duarte. You take a fingerbanging class or something?" the redhead murmured, hips bucking against the Latina.  _

_ "Shut up and enjoy the ride, Nichols," Daddy growled low in Nicky's ear, her free hand snaking up to--  _

Nicky jerked awake, nearly hitting her head on the bunk above. Her heart was racing hard within her chest, a thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, and there was an unmistakable throb between her thighs that she couldn't ignore. 

Shit. When was the last time she'd…done  _ that _ ? 

It had been months, it seemed like. But then again, the fear of spending the rest of her life in here, the hollow guilt in her stomach from having given up Red, and the constant reek of mildew hadn't exactly done wonders for her libido in the first place. 

And now her bunkie was stone cold asleep, and it wasn't as if she had any pressing matters to deal with at the present moment, and surely, it couldn't hurt to  _ touch _ \-- 

Nicky slid a hand down her stomach, pressing her lips together tightly when her fingers slid beneath her underwear. 

"Fuck," she mouthed, squeezing her eyes shut and gritting her teeth. 

_ "Doesn't that feel good, baby?" Daddy growls in her ear, sweeping aside the mess of ginger curls to lick a long stripe up Nicky's neck.  _

_ "Fuck you, Duarte," Nicky gasped, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open in a silent scream. _

_ "I'm not-- I'm not your fucking baby--"  _

Nicky fell off the edge moments later, clamping a hand over her mouth as her hips bucked against her hand. Usually, it was thoughts of Lorna or Stretch or Fiona Apple in the 'Criminal' video getting her there, not her former drug dealer whom she may or may not be in love with. 

Nothing about this was usual, though. That was for certain. Hell, Lorna and Red would probably team up and give her the ass whoopin' of a lifetime if they found out about this. Maybe Chapman would join in on the fun, loudly reading inspirational quotes and success stories in the corner. 

And then there was Barb. 

Shit. She'd probably haul Daddy by the undercut down the aisle, and then threaten some unsuspecting bitch at knifepoint (shivpoint?) to officiate the wedding. 

Or maybe she wouldn't give a fuck. It was a mixed bag with Barb. 

Nicky ran her hands over her face, letting out a deep, tremulous breath. Jesus Christ getting pegged with a cucumber, how the  _ fuck  _ did she even get here? 

Well, she knew the answer to that.

First, she'd stolen Vee's heroin. 

And then, she'd tried to sell it with Luschek.

And then, like the snitch pig he was, he'd sent her down the hill.

And then, she'd gotten back into the delicate, refined art of sucking off a C.O in a closet for heroin. 

And then, some  _ bitch  _ (a.k.a the lovely and vivacious Daddy) had walked up to her in the library, telling Nicky she looked a little sad as she dangled a tiny plastic bag between two fingers. 

And then, she was sent back up the hill. 

And then, she was sent back down the hill. 

So all in all, this was Luschek's fault. 

That rat bastard. 

Nicky closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow. 

She really needed to learn to save her existential crises for the afternoon. 

× × × 

"Hey," Nicky mumbled, sitting across the table from Daddy. "How they hangin'?" 

Daddy scoffed, sparing Nicky a glance from the book she was reading.

"Shut up, pervert," she muttered. 

"Oh, baby, I love it when you degrade me," Nicky said with a faux moan, a lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"You come here to make me uncomfortable or you actually have something to say to me, Nichols?" Daddy asked, leafing through the pages with a practiced indifference. She met Nicky's gaze and arched an eyebrow. 

Nicky let out a low, tremulous breath, her hands shaking uncontrollably even when she clasped them together. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, sharp and stinging and painfully hot. 

"I, uh… I just came to tell you I'm sorry."

The words tasted sour and bitter on Nicky's tongue, and she  _ swore  _ she could feel bile burning in the back of her throat.

Daddy closed the book and set it aside. "For what?" 

"For a lot of things," Nicky confessed, a sad sort of chuckle scraping the walls of her throat. She raked a hand through her hair, the hollowness in her chest feeling ever so slightly more prominent. 

"Yeah, yeah, you're gonna have to be a little more specific with me, Nichols," the Latina said, giving the ginger an incredulous chuckle. Nicky could tell her patience was wearing thin, that she was starting to lose her, and--

"We can't be doin' this shit anymore," the redhead said, digging her nails into the flesh of her palm until it stung. She couldn't let Daddy see her like this, all vulnerable and on the verge of tears,  _ disgusting--  _

"And you know what I mean, Duarte. We're never gonna  _ be  _ anything real, so let's save each other all the emotional turmoil and crying to contraband Melissa Etheridge CDs and leave each other the fuck alone," Nicky said, her bones feeling like lead beneath her skin. 

The coil of tension within her chest grew tighter with every word until she swore it would burst, and she'd be a mess of blood and bones and  _ nothingness,  _ the broken pieces of her heart to be swept up and thrown away or some poetic bullshit like that. 

Daddy stared at her open mouthed, eyebrows still expectantly arched as she let out a scoff. Nicky frowned, were those  _ tears  _ shimmering behind her eyes?

No, no, that was impossible, Daddy  _ never  _ cried. Didn't allow herself to, Nicky knew that. 

"And I'm sorry, Duarte. Really, I, I am, 'cause I- I know that I made you think that  _ this, _ whatever it is, was real, and I know I didn't do you any favors by shoving you up against a wall and confessing my undying love for you, or letting you finger me in the showers, and also we're both tops--" 

Nicky's rambling was cut off by Daddy holding up her hand, slowly shaking her head. "I don't want to hear it, Nichols," she whispered. 

Nicky sat in silence. Wasn't like she had much of a right to do anything else. 

"I never should have asked you for a hug, huh?" the redhead deadpanned, a dry chuckle leaving the corner of her mouth. She was Nicky Nichols after all, she couldn't let the conversation end without a final weak attempt at humor. 

Daddy let out a deep sigh. 

"No. You shouldn't have." She met Nicky's gaze with eyes that were beginning to brim with tears of their own. 

"And I shouldn't have given you drugs, and I shouldn't have gotten this attached to you in the first place," Daddy muttered, wiping at her eyes with the back of her wrist. She stood up, fixing Nicky with a steely, hateful glare. 

"We both fucked up, Nichols. You more than me," Daddy said, turning around and leaving the ginger a mess without a second thought. 

Nicky let out a deep, shuddering breath, a familiar ache curling low in her belly. 

_ I need a fix.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what the say-- it's gotta get worse before it gets better.


	5. Chapter 5

"Yo." 

Nicky looks up from her exhilarating activity of staring off into space, feeling a throb in her chest at the sight of who's standing in the doorway. 

_Daddy._

The redhead rolls her eyes despite the fluttering warmth in her stomach. "I thought we agreed we should stay the fuck away from leach other." 

"Yeah, well, I decided that was bullshit," the Latina deadpans, lifting up the bottom of her shirt and exposing a shampoo bottle tucked in her waistband. 

Daddy smirks, giving the redhead a wink. "Want some?" 

Fifteen minutes later, they're sprawled over Nicky's bed and laughing uncontrollably. 

"So the penguin says-- oh my _fucking God_ ," Nicky shrieks through her cackles, grabbing an equally hysterical Daddy by the shoulder and burying her face in the other girl's neck.

"He says, he's not an eggplant, man. He's-- he's, _I can't breathe--_ he says, he's _retarded_!" 

Daddy lets out a wheeze, clapping her hands together with the rhythm and grace of a coked-out seal. Her head falls onto Nicky's shoulder, alcohol on her breath as she buries her face in those ginger curls. 

"Shit, man. The part about the umbrella really got me," the Latina says, wiping the corners of her eyes and coughing out one last laugh. 

"Barb tells me I should do stand-up when I get out. What do you think?" Nicky asks, grabbing the bottle from Daddy's hand and taking a swig. She's feeling the effects of the hooch now, dizzy and euphoric and more than slightly tipsy. 

_Note to self: Thank Adeola profusely for this sexy, sexy God-crafted liquid._

"Yeah, I could see that," Daddy replies after a moment, holding her hand out for the hooch. "Give it to me." 

"Hey, what do you wanna do when you get out?" Nicky says, passing the bottle to the Latina. It's a dangerous question, and she's not sure how Daddy's going to respond, but-- 

"No idea. Guess I'll go back to my old ways," Daddy deadpans with a shrug of her shoulders. She's teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk, her hair a mess and her eyes wide and full of something Nicky can't pinpoint. 

"Oh, you mean the same shit that got you in here?" Nicky says, and clearly she must be almost drunk too if she's willing to challenge the top dog of D-Block. 

"Yeah. The fuck else am I supposed to do, Nichols? I never learned how to do more than sell shit." 

"Then work at Target. They love dykes." 

"Fuck you. You know what I mean," Daddy scoffs, taking another plentiful swallow of hooch. Nicky winces-- there's no way she's getting the bottle back now. 

"There's stuff out there for you, Duarte. You just haven't looked hard enough yet. Worst case scenario, you can work at a strip club and make a living off all the horny middle aged men visiting from Iowa," Nicky says, playfully elbowing the bleach-blonde in the side. 

"You got a point there, Nichols. I used to be a pimp after all, so if I know anything, it's how to make a horny middle aged man even hornier." 

"There ya go! Or you could just work at Target. A good job, it is." 

There are several more moments of awkward silence before Daddy tilts her head to the side, a lopsided, lazy grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She's _drunk_ -drunk _for real_ -for real now, and it makes Nicky's stomach roll in a way that isn't quite unpleasant. 

"You're beautiful. You know that?" she drawls, leaning forward and stroking her thumb up and down Nicky's cheek. The gesture sends sparks of electricity up the redhead's spine, and _how bad could it possibly be if I kissed her right now?_

"Hey, hey, at least buy me dinner first," Nicky says, making a weak attempt at batting Daddy's hand away. 

Her stomach rolls again, uncomfortable in the good way, in the 'pushing boundaries' way, in the 'this goddamn fucking close to kissing her incredibly toxic former drug dealer square on the mouth' way. 

"Aww, baby, am I making you blush?" the Latina slurs, resting her cheek on Nicky's shoulder. There's a light in her eyes Nicky hasn't seen since last year, along with a smile that's hazy and soft. 

_God,_ Nicky could stare at that smile forever. 

"C'mon, man. Let's get you to bed," the redhead mutters, slinging Daddy's arm over her shoulder and slowly standing up. 

"Yeah, Nichols, let's get me to bed," Daddy groans in agreement, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "You know you're getting old when your head hurts before you stop drinkin'." 

"Should I call you 'Grandpa' now instead?" Nicky says with a wry grin. 

Daddy grumbles in response. "Just take me to bed." 

"Sure thing, Gramps." 

Daddy collapses on her mattress the second she walks through the doorway to her cell. Nicky can't help but let out a dry chuckle, grabbing the spare blanket and throwing it over the drunk Latina. 

"G'night, Duarte. I'd leave you a Midol and a glass of water, but I don't have either of those, so you're gonna have to tough it out," Nicky says, rubbing Daddy on the back before turning around and heading outside. 

"Nicky, _wait_." 

Nicky stops in her tracks at the sound of her name being called. 

They don't use first names. Not ever. That was part of the deal. 

"Uh...yeah?" 

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" 

Fuck, she sounds so... _nice._ Like Nicky's the only person she's sweet on. 

Nicky pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, ruminating over what to say. 

_Eh, fuck it._

"Sure, Duarte," the redhead whispers, carefully sitting down on the edge of the bed and rubbing small, soothing circles on Daddy's back. 

"Sure." 

She's gotta put a stop to this eventually. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Nicky thinking she needs a fix won't just be shoved away-- it WILL be explored in later chapters :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

"Barb wants to speak with you." 

Annalisa is standing in the doorway, fingers dancing at the corner of her smirking mouth in that oh-so annoying way of hers. 

"Does she now?" Nicky drawls, feigning stupidity. Her heart jumps to her throat at the mention of the older woman's name, the knot in her stomach beginning to tighten. 

"Get the fuck up," Annalisa deadpans in response, and the redhead jumps up before she can finish her sentence. 

"Yes ma'am," Nicky mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes and making a beeline for Barb's cell. 

_ She knows. She's gotta know, what else could she wanna talk to you about? The weather? Nah, rec time isn't for another hour, how the fuck could she know about the weather? _

_ Shit, shit, she knows, and she's gonna shank you for stealin' her girl, and--  _

"Nicky, honey, how you doin'? Come on in," Barb says, yellow-toothed grin unnaturally wide as she pats the empty space next to her on the mattress. 

"Hey, Barb. Everything okay?" Nicky says, unease churning low in her belly as she enters the dark, damp space of Barb's cell. 

She's become remarkably good at pretending she's not going to spew all over the floor at any moment. Bein' in Max will do that to a gal. 

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Don't look so scared, sweetheart-- I just wanted to ask you something," the brunette coos as Nicky slowly sits down, slinging an arm over the younger woman's shoulder. 

Nicky tries her  _ damndest  _ not to flinch. 

Internally, she scolds herself.  _ Barb's trying to become a better person,  _ she thinks.  _ You have no right to be scared of her, what's in the past is in the past.  _

But there's a part of Nicky that  _ knows _ , deep in her bones, that there's an evil brewing within Barb and a rotting hole in her chest where her heart should be. 

And she can't forget it. 

"Nicky, uh...are you and Daddy-O havin' a little thing?" Barb says, tilting her head to the side as a grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. 

"Uh...uh, I, uh...well, y'know, uh…that kinda depends on, uh, what you mean by a thing, Barb," Nicky stammers out, knowing perfectly damn well exactly what Barb means. 

"Oh, sweetie, don't be shy with me. Barb sees all," the brunette whispers, her tone light and airy when she gives Nicky a playful wink. She jostles Nicky by the shoulder, a dry chuckle scraping the walls of her throat. 

Nicky dies a little. 

"So, what's goin' on? What's the tea, as the young'uns say?" Barb asks, pursing her lips and pulling Nicky closer. 

"Is it just sex?" the older woman continues in response to Nicky's silence, giving a hearty laugh when the redhead goes as red as a tomato. 

Yep. Nicky just died a little more. 

"Or do you really, really,  _ really _ like each other? As in, like-like?" 

Nicky's silence must be a huge,  _ huge  _ tell, because Barb slaps her on the arm and lets out a cackle. 

"Oh, who am I kidding? I know you two are like  _ this _ ," Barb says, crossing her index and middle finger together. A smirk crosses her features. 

"Or are you like this?" Four of the brunette's fingers form a v-shape and she jams them together. 

Nicky recites her obituary in her head.  _ Nicky Nichols, 31, appreciator of heroin and women, was found dead in her prison mama's cell after being horrifically embarrassed multiple times by aforementioned prison mama. She is survived by her father, Broken Condom Nichols III, her egg donor, Marka Nichols, and her two younger siblings that don't know she exists.  _

"You gonna tell Diaz?" Nicky asks.  _ Stupid.  _

Barb cocks her head to the side. "Did Daddy-O tell you they're back together?" 

Nicky nods. 

Barb winks again. "They're not," she whispers like it's meant to be a secret for the two of them to share. Maybe it is. 

"Okay," the redhead mutters, half-angry at Daddy for lying to her, half-angry at herself for...shit, she can't even keep track no more. 

"Uh, Barb, I gotta go," Nicky says, breath shaky and chest warm with nerves. She doesn't wait to be excused ( _ idiot move, Nichols!)  _ before leaving, thinking cloudy but all too clear at the same time. 

She has  _ got  _ to stop herself from falling in love with Daddy, she  _ needs  _ to stop before it's too late and she fucks herself up beyond repair. 

_ Okay, now that Diaz is outta the picture, you and Duarte can do whatever the two of you want-- no you can't, because she's dangerous and you're going to either relapse or get yourself fucking killed, but maybe just maybe you can ride off into the sunset together-- oh, that's bullshit, Nichols, just shut up. Just shut up, shut up, shut up, stupid--  _

Nicky heads straight into Daddy's cell, and-- 

Daddy's hand is down Diaz's pants, lips pressed against the younger girl's. They're so  _ fucking  _ wrapped up in each other, and it makes Nicky sick, because she wants that to be  _ her _ , she wants to be  _ good enough but I never am I never am I never am--  _

Nicky runs away before they can notice her and sobs into her pillow until she's got nothing left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so damn good to y'all. Two chapters in one night? Where's my Pulitzer prize? 
> 
> See ya next time :)


	7. Chapter 7

_ I need a fix. I need a fix. I need a fix.  _

The words have been pounding in Nicky's head non-stop for the past few days until they're all she can think about, leaving her sweaty and cold and nauseated and breathless. 

It's worse than withdrawal, almost. The aching, gnawing need to feel  _ nothing  _ and  _ everything  _ all at the same time but knowing that she'll ruin herself all over again with just one taste. 

Nicky swore to herself she'd never do it again. She swore to Red, and to Lorna, and to more than half of Manhattan and even  _ Daddy  _ that she would never ever ever do it again. 

But that was easier said than done.

And this was Max, for Christ's sake. Anything Nicky had ever dreamed of was available right outside the cell door, all's she had to do was ask the right person. 

But the right person had made it  _ abundantly  _ clear that she'd never sell to Nicky again. 

Shit. Daddy had probably threatened even the old Florida biddies into not selling to Nicky. Then again, it wasn't like Taslitz had a steady supply of goodies... _ or did she?  _

_ Damnit Nichols, focus! Think rainbows and glitter and puppies and cupcakes and puppy cupcakes-- okay, no, that's weird-- think happy thoughts, like, uh, Fiona Apple in the Criminal video, or when you went to Coney Island, or when you pushed that needle into your skin for the first time--  _

"Fuck," Nicky groans, clamping her hands over her ears as if that's going to somehow help. She knows what she needs to do, she needs to talk to Red, but Red probably hates her goddamn guts right now-- 

"Yo, Nichols." 

There's Daddy again, standing in the doorway of Nicky's cell. She's clearly having another one of her little 'be totally cool and nonchalant and pretend like you don't give a shit about shit' episodes, and Nicky chooses to let her ride through it. 

"Barb wants to talk to us. Not just you and me, but all her girls," the Latina says, cocking her head and furrowing her brow at Nicky's dumbfounded expression. 

"What you lookin' like that for? Did you forget that the kickball championship's tomorrow?" Daddy asks. 

Nicky's eyes widen. She'd forgotten all about it, truthfully, what with the cravings and the cold sweats and the trying oh-so fucking hard not to ruin herself again. 

But all she says to Daddy is a 'yeah, I guess,' before following Daddy to the common room outside. 

The next fifteen minutes are numb. 

She sits at one of the long metal tables with Barb's girls (she guesses she's one of them now) and she listens to Barb go on and on about what they have to do tomorrow, the blood that has to be spilled and the lives that have to be ended, all because of some stupid  _ shit  _ that doesn't even matter. 

And Nicky might have to kill someone tomorrow. 

Nicky might have to force a shiv between the ribs of somebody else, and Nicky might have to watch the light fade out of their eyes and watch as crimson blooms beneath their body. 

And Lorna is going to be a part of it all. 

Lorna is going to clutch her stomach and pretend she's going into labor, and if the guards are smart enough they'll figure out that she was a part of it, that the pint-sized pregnant lady with big ol' doe eyes has blood on her hands and in five seconds flat she'll be slapped upside the head with a life sentence and she'll  _ never  _ get out. 

The thought of that scares Nicky sick. 

So as the other girls slam their fists against the table and chant 'D-Block, D-Block, D-Block' until their mouths go numb, Nicky tries to formulate a plan. 

  
  
  


***

  
  


"Nicky?" 

Lorna strolls into Nicky's cell without invitation, plopping down on the mattress and rubbing the redhead's side. 

"What's going on with you, honey?" she whispers, her voice smooth and warm like the spring air or some other sappy sapphic poetry euphemism. 

"Eh, y'know. Same old, same old." 

That was a lie, of course. But she didn't expect Lorna to understand, and she wasn't about to shock the poor kid out of her 'rainbows and sunshine' fairy tale world. 

"You feelin' okay enough to talk?" 

"I'm feelin' okay enough to look at that gorgeous face," Nicky says, rolling around and reaching up to Lorna's face to pinch her cheeks. 

Lorna blushes, playfully batting the redhead's hands away. "Oh, Nicky, you're too much." 

Nicky smirks. Lorna had said something along those lines not too long ago, albeit in a remarkably different tone and context as her skin shone with sweat under the lighting from the chapel. 

But that was a different world, where Lorna was at least 27% gay and Nicky had at least nine functioning brain cells. 

"And Nicky, I know that even though we're not those kind of friends no more, I'll always be here for ya. Okay?"

The redhead blinks. Had Lorna been yammering on and on all this time? 

"Oh, Lorna. You're sweeter than a...somethin' really sweet. My metaphorical abilities are fried right now," Nicky groans, burying her face in a pillow. 

It did nothing to help with the sick churning in her stomach or the throbbing ache in her head or any of the other fanatically poetic pains that plagued her daily. 

"I just need some sleep, y'know? And then I'll be good as new," Nicky says, offering Lorna a weak smile that tugs at the corner of her mouth.

The beaming look Lorna gives her in return makes warmth spread throughout Nicky's chest. 

(And lower, to be honest.) 

(Like, way, way lower.) 

"Well then, I'm gonna let you sleep. But if you need me, honey, you know where to find me, okay? I ain't goin' anywhere any time soon." 

Oh, Lorna.  _ Her _ Lorna.

Truth be told, Nicky's not really sure she ever fell out of love with her in the first place.

Nicky Nichols isn't sure of a lot of things. 

Like how the  _ fuck  _ she's going to get her way out of this mess. 

And when Lorna leaves her with a pat on the back and a murmured 'I love you', the nauseous feeling low in Nicky's stomach increases tenfold. 

How  _ is  _ she going to get out of this mess? 

Sure, Nicky worked her way out of having to kill Red by using a bottle cap, a little magic, and claiming a masturbation addiction, but that was no easy feat. 

And now, she was going to get another fifty years, and so was Lorna, and so was  _ Daddy,  _ goddamnit-- 

"What's the long face for, Nichols?" 

Ah. Speak of the devil. 

"What d'you want, man?" Nicky groans, resisting the urge to launch a pillow at the Latina. That wouldn't be her dumbest thing to date, no, but--

Daddy raises her hands in surrender. "Look, I just wanted to check up on you, okay?" she says, sounding genuinely offended for the briefest of moments.

It's almost enough to make Nicky feel bad. 

"Oh, please. Stop pretending like you even give a shit," Nicky spits out, surprising even herself with the venomous fire in her voice. 

Daddy's eyes widen with something between rage and hurt. "What the fuck did you say?" 

"You  _ fuckin'  _ heard me, you rug-munching little bitch," Nicky hisses, too angry to be aware of the irony. 

"You think it's smart to talk to me like that, Nichols? You're not my bitch anymore, and if you were, I'd let that slide, but  _ Diaz  _ is the one in my bed now and her mouth is proficient at things other than--" 

"Just-- just shut your fucking mouth and go," the redhead snarls, not wanting to hear another word about Diaz's cunnilingus skills. 

Or for that matter, another word out of Daddy's stupid fucking  _ kissable  _ mouth. 

"Fuck you, Nichols, I'm not going anywhere. If you're plotting some bullshit, you can cut it out right now, because you're not getting out of this one." 

"Oh, ex-fuckin'- _ scuseeee _ me for not wanting you or me or Lorna to get another  _ seventy fucking years _ !" 

Nicky's screaming now, tears running down her face. The entire block must be able to hear her now, and she can't decide if she's more embarrassed or fucking petrified. 

"I do whatever the fuck I have to in here, Nichols," Daddy growls, reaching forward and grabbing the redhead by the arm hard enough to bruise. 

Nicky winces. Bitch got a  _ grip.  _

"You of all people should be able to understand that," the Latina whispers, every word burning with hate. 

"You know, I have no idea why I expected anything different from you," Nicky says with a humorless chuckle, wrenching herself out of Daddy's grip. 

"And I agree, Duarte. You do what you have to do, even if that means killing someone  _ totally  _ fucking innocent, and you clean the blood off your hands and you sleep like a goddamn fucking baby and you do it again the next day.

"You don't give a  _ fuck. That's _ the problem, Duarte. You don't give a  _ fuck  _ about anything or anyone but yourself."

Daddy clenches her jaw. "Shut up." 

"Why should I? You didn't give a fuck about me when my lips were turning blue in that supply closet. You got your damn money, so you were  _ all  _ good, right?" Nicky shouts, shoving the Latina backwards and feeling a burst of sick pride in her chest when she nearly falls. 

"I said shut up." 

"Eh, well, I don't really want to. You don't give a fuck if you make half of D-Block an addict, don't you? No, you don't care, as long as you get your cut."

Nicky swoops in, nose nearly touching Daddy's as she whispers her final words. 

"And you don't give a fuck if your girlfriend almost  _ dies _ as long you get paid on time. Amber's her name, right? That's why you're in here after all, because--" 

Daddy slaps her across the face. 

Nicky rubs at the purple and red blossoming against her skin. Her ears are ringing, her eyes are brimming with tears, and there's nothing she can do anymore. 

"Her name is Lorna, by the way. It's not fucking 'Preggo'," Nicky suddenly spits out. 

With that, Daddy turns around and leaves. 

Just like she always does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Chapter eight coming soon! Get ready for a non-canon compliant ride, y'all.


	8. Chapter 8

Barb Denning is dead. 

Barb Denning is dead.

Barb Denning is dead.

Barb Denning is a corpse on the fucking floor and there's blood gushing from a cut on her neck and Barb Denning is  _ fucking dead _ . 

"Back off, inmates, nothing to see here," Alvarez says, shoving Nicky and the girls behind her backwards like that's going to change the fact that  _ Barb Denning is dead ohmygodohmyfuckinggod--  _

Carol  _ ohmygodcarol  _ is a few feet ahead of her, lying limp and listless and  _ soaked  _ in blood, a screwdriver sticking out of her back. It doesn't take a genius to piece together what happened, that the Denning sisters have finally killed each other like they've wanted to for almost forty years. 

"Barb?" 

Nicky's heart plummets. 

She knows who that is behind her. It's _ Daddy,  _ Daddy who is going to be totally broken by this,  _ ruined  _ and  _ broken  _ and  _ completely fucked--  _

And Nicky is being shoved to the side, and Daddy is falling to her knees by Barb's body, and she's screaming Barb's name, and Diaz is trying to drag her away, and Nicky is  _ runningrunningrunning  _ as fast as she can, away from Barb, away from Daddy, away from  _ herself-- _

***

They're in lockdown for three days. 

When it's finally over, Nicky makes a beeline straight for Lorna's cell, nearly knocking over a few of Daddy's side bitches in the process. 

"Hey, Adeola. You, uh, you know where Lorna is?" Nicky asks, gingerly (ha-ha, so funny and clever) making her way into the cell. 

"She's not here, obviously," Adeola says with a scoff, gesturing around the room. She exhales, pressing a hand to her chest. 

"I apologize, Nichols. I was being thoughtless and insensitive to you and your emotional state," she says gently, her voice low and calm and well, almost _ nice _ by Adeola standards.

Nicky can't tell if she's being sarcastic or not, so she offers a half-hearted 'it's cool' and wonders what the hell kind of twilight zone she just stepped into. 

"I heard she had to go to the hospital, maybe ask one of the guards," Adeola says, the words sending a sharp jolt of fear straight into Nicky's gut. 

Fuck,  _ of course  _ she was in the hospital, she had told Nicky something was wrong, and Nicky had just  _ left  _ her,  _ left her  _ and was  _ selfish  _ and went out onto that kickball field and she was only fucking thinking of herself, because that was  _ all  _ she could do--

"Uh, officer?" 

Before she knows it, Nicky is standing in front of one of the guards from camp-- the tall blonde one that always seems to be scared shitless of something. 

Tall-Blonde-Scared-Guard flinches almost immediately, hand flying instinctively to her baton before relaxing. 

"Uh, sorry," she murmurs, and  _ holy fuck did she just apologize?  _

Nicky shakes her head, clears her throat. "It's fine, uh, where's Morello? Is she okay?" 

The guard chews on her bottom lip for a moment, clearly ruminating over what to say,  _ how  _ to say it. She shakes her head after an agonizing moment of silence, and says-- 

"Morello went into early labor, I- I think she's in the hospital. She'll be back tomorrow after count, or something, I- I don't know," she mutters, shoving her hands in her pockets and walking away as fast as she can. 

Nicky's going to be fucking  _ sick _ . 

And to think-- only a couple days ago was she so genuinely fucking  _ happy  _ that she thought she might burst. Marrying off Vause and Chapman, standing on that kickball field and feeling the sun, basking in the fresh air, adrenaline of the  _ best fucking kind  _ racing through her veins-- 

And where did it all go? Where did it all go  _ when she needed it where where where--  _

*

Tall-Blonde-Scared-Guard is only a  _ little _ right. 

Lorna's back three whole days later, stomach swollen underneath her khakis and looking more exhausted than Nicky had ever seen her. 

(But still beautiful.)

When Nicky sees her for the first time after  _ six whole fucking days,  _ Lorna smiles, stretches out her arms, and says 'You have a nephew.'

Nicky screams so loud that she feels something pop. 

"Holy shit! Holy shit holy shit holy shit, I have a nephew? You have a son? You're a mom  _ for real  _ for real? You birthed a child? A living, breathing human being popped out from your snatch? A baby--" 

Nicky's rambling gets cut off when Lorna clamps her hands over her ears. 

"Jesus, Nicky, slow your roll! Yes, I birthed a child, yes, he's beautiful, no, I don't think I'll ever be tight again," Lorna says, feigning devastation as she presses her hand to her forehead. 

"Yeah, well, a Catholic school uniform shoe and a baby are very,  _ very  _ different things. Anyway, is he healthy?" Nicky asks, pulling the brunette closer by the shoulder. There's that same joy again, warmth bubbling in her stomach and chest and making her feel that  _ maybe,  _ just maybe, everything will be okay. 

"Uh-huh! Little Sterling is doing perfectly fine. Call it a miracle," Lorna says with a shrug, grinning ear to ear and pulling Nicky in for another hug. 

"Good, good, good. Listen, uh, there's something we need to talk about," the redhead murmurs, tucking a lock of brown hair behind Lorna's ear. Fuck, her hands are already starting to shake.

"Oh honey, can it wait until I talk to Barb? I'm sure she'd want to hear all about little Sterling and all his little fingers and little toes and all his other little baby parts."

"Yeah, uh...about that," Nicky murmurs, rubbing the back of her neck with a tremulous hand. How the hell was she going to  _ say _ this? 

"Barb and Carol, they, uh...they're both dead," she murmurs, nails digging into her palms deeper and deeper with every word she says until it burns. 

"That's not funny, Nicky," Lorna whispers after almost a minute, face draining of color. "You shouldn't joke about that."

"Well, good thing I'm not joking, huh?" 

"When did it happen?" Lorna asks, her voice a low, raspy whisper. Her eyes are starting to water, and all Nicky wants to do is kiss them away and act like everything's alright.

"During the kickball game," Nicky says, pulling Lorna in for a hug and resting her cheek against the brunette's head.  _ Fuck,  _ how she's missed this, how she's missed Lorna and everything about her. 

"I-- I'm sorry, Lorna. I know how much Barb meant to you," Nicky murmurs, planting a kiss to the brunette's hairline. 

"It's fine," Lorna says too quickly for Nicky to believe her.

"So, uh, who's in charge now?" the brunette asks. "Is it you? Is it Flaca? Is it me? Oh no, don't tell me I'm the new H.B.I.C, I just had a  _ baby _ \--" 

"No, no, you're not. It's Daddy. Or at least it will be when she stops crying in her cell all day," Nicky mutters from the corner of her mouth, jerking her thumb outside of the cell. 

"Oh, that poor  _ angel _ ," Lorna croons, her brow knit with worry. "Go and find her." 

"Eh, that's not really the way I'd refer to her, but I like how you try and see the good in everyone," Nicky says, getting up from the mattress and heading for the door. "I'm gonna go find her, Lorn."

"Tell her she has a new nephew!" 

There was no way in heaven, hell, or purgatory that Nicky was going to tell her that.

The redhead stands in the doorway of Daddy's cell, the knot in her stomach tightening at what she sees. 

Daddy is huddled up under the thin piece of crap that's supposed to be a blanket, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She looks pathetic,  _ weak,  _ and Nicky knows the Latina would kill her if she breathed a word about this to anyone. 

_ Damnit, Nicky, say something.  _

"Hey. How you doin'?" Nicky says gently, plopping down and placing a warm hand on the small of the Latina's back. 

"How do you think, Nichols?" Daddy groans, her voice thick with tears. 

"Well, uh, considering your prison mommy just kicked the bucket...I'm guessing not too good?" Nicky offers, clicking her tongue and giving Daddy's shoulder a playful shake. 

"Correct. Now fuck off." 

"Oh, Duarte, stop flirting. We get it, you like me," Nicky groans, a wry grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. She's never been too good at the mushy stuff, after all. 

Except when she was a prison therapist for 17 hours and 39 minutes. She was  _ damn  _ good at it too.

"Nichols, seriously, I don't wanna hear your bullshit today," Daddy says, the usual venomous bite in her voice nowhere to be found. Instead, she sounds sad and empty, like someone reached inside her and took her soul out of her chest. 

It's enough to break Nicky's smarmy resolve. 

"You miss her?" the redhead says gently, her thumb stroking up and down Daddy's skin through the khaki shirt. 

"Of course I do," Daddy scoffs as if it's obvious. 

"Yes, I was terrified of her, and yes, she was completely batshit insane, but I would be fucking _ dead  _ without her," she murmurs into her pillow, chest burning with choked down sobs.

There's no way she's letting Nichols see her like this, there's no way she's letting  _ anyone  _ see her like this--

"She saved my life, Nichols. I know it doesn't make any sense, but...I  _ loved  _ her."

"You ever go bumper to bumper?" Nicky says after a too-long pause, coughing up another dry chuckle.

"What? No, you fucking pervert," Daddy hisses, landing a good, hard slap on Nicky's leg. 

"Okay, okay, sorry. I get it, you're not in the mood for me to lovingly sexually harass you," Nicky relents, rubbing the place on her thigh Daddy hit her.  _ Fuck,  _ that was painful. 

"I never am, Nichols."

Judging by the bruise blooming underneath Nicky's khakis, Daddy was  _ not  _ bullshitting.

"Hey, how about we get you showered, Duarte? You smell like the aftermath of rehab number six when the whole ward decided to do hand sanitizer shots," Nicky says, waving a hand in front of her nose. Holy  _ fuck,  _ she needs a shower. 

Daddy sighs, a long, drawn-out sound that makes Nicky's heart sink. "Thanks." 

A couple minutes later, they're standing in the showers, Nicky tapping her foot impatiently against the tile. 

"Jesus, Duarte, I'm not doing this to creep on you, okay?" Nicky says, holding out both hands defensively. "I'm just trying to make sure that--"

"That what? That I won't try and drown myself in the shower? If I was going to kill myself, I would do it in the guard bathroom during my cleaning shift," Daddy replies, crossing her arms in front of her chest and tilting her head back against the wall. There's a tightness in her jaw that Nicky can't miss, and a flame in her eyes that makes the redhead feel sick. 

"Pulling a Ruiz, that's nice. But I don't trust you to be alone right now." 

What she thinks is  _ I can't possibly fucking leave you alone right now _ , but she doesn't say it.

Daddy sighs, shoots Nicky one last resentful glare, and pulls her shirt over her head. 

The redhead resists the urge to shout 'oh yeah, take it off,' as Daddy steps into the shower and turns on the water. 

Nicky _is_ still Nicky after all, even if she's trying to comfort her mildly sociopathic friend/former drug-dealer after the murder of her prison mommy. 

"Yo, Duarte," Nichols calls behind her, having turned around to give the Latina some semblance of privacy. 

"What?" 

"Do you wanna come to NA with me?" 

"For what? I'm no addict," Daddy scoffs, scrubbing shampoo into her scalp and letting it drift down her back. 

"Just to give you something to do, y'know? That is, something to do other than crying in your bunk all the time," Nicky shoots back in reply, feeling a spark of rebellion in her chest with every word that rolls off her tongue. 

Jesus, was she so pathetic now that she got off on spewing middle school insults? Where were the junkie philosopher wisecracks when she needed them the most? 

"Yeah, and maybe I can take an art class, paint you a pretty fuckin' picture," Daddy deadpans, watching the water cascade down her body and swirl down the drain. 

She can't remember the last time she felt so fucking _ empty.  _

"Can you  _ please _ just try and take this seriously? Y'know, help me help you and all that karmic bullshit," Nicky pleads, earning a strange look from one of the other girls stepping out of the shower. 

"Not talkin' to you," the redhead mutters under her breath. 

Oh, if only Yoga Jones' fine sexy ass could see her now. She'd be so proud. 

"What's crawled up your snatch, Nichols? Other than a superiority complex that you can't seem to get rid of?" Daddy hisses, clutching a bottle of body wash in her hand like she's actually going to throw it at Nicky. 

"Oh, you're one to talk about a fucking superiority complex. I'm only spewing all this therapizing bullshit because I care, okay?" Nicky shouts, earning another strange look from the same girl. 

"Lady, I'm  _ not  _ talkin' to you. I'm talkin' to someone behind me, so please just _ go.  _ Shoo, shoo, on your way." 

Daddy lets out something between a scoff and a sigh. "No, you don't care,  _ Nicky. _ The only person who ever gave a shit about me is dead and gone." 

"That's…that's not true," Nicky croaks out, stomach churning and hands shaking. Against her better judgment, she turns around. 

Daddy fixes her with that fucking horrible, beautiful smirk. Turns off the faucet. 

"Wanna get in here with me or what?" 

Nicky can't decide if she's reached a new high or a new low when her shirt hits the floor and her pants follow after. 

Maybe that's what she likes about this whole fucked-up shindig. 

Their lips meet almost immediately. 

Daddy's hands are tangled in Nicky's hair and their breasts are pressed together and there's a warmth building between Nicky's thighs that only increases tenfold when she kisses her way down Daddy's stomach and sinks to her knees. 

_ "Fuck,"  _ Daddy growls when Nicky's mouth settles between her legs, hands fisted in damp ginger curls. 

"Shh," Nicky murmurs, biting a warning into the Latina's thigh and tightening her hold on her hips.

Huh. This was just like old times, come to think of it, when Nicky still wore ungodly amounts of mascara and Daddy had only three bitches instead of seventeen. Only this time, Nicky wouldn't be the proud owner of a baggie of heroin when all was said and done. 

_ This is definitely way better,  _ Nicky thinks to herself, and if her mouth wasn't so damn busy, she'd be smirking right now. 

Daddy clamps a hand over her mouth and bites back a moan, hips bucking against Nicky's face. She tastes so good,  _ feels  _ so good when she yanks Nicky's hair and silently begs her for more, and she comes in Nicky's mouth in a matter of  _ minutes _ , throwing her head back against the wet tile in a silent scream. 

Nicky is making her come. Nicky is making her come, hands gripping her hips and tongue licking into her, and it feels so incredibly unfathomably  _ impossibly  _ good to be here right now, to experience being unraveled and put back together again by  _ Nicky fucking Nichols herself,  _ and it's all Daddy can do not to scream out her name. 

"Yo, what the  _ fuck _ ?!"

_ Daya  _ is standing in front of them, shower caddy in one hand and towel in the other. She's  _ furious,  _ eyes bulging out of their sockets, vein popping out from her forehead, and the rage radiating off of her is almost enough to make Nicky sick. 

But Daya doesn't do anything. She doesn't shiv them, or jump them, or do jack shit other than just  _ leave.  _

And Nicky knows that's not all she's going to do. 

"This is bad," Daddy whispers, the words sour on her tongue. When Nicky turns to look at her, she looks more terrified than the redhead has ever seen her. It's enough to send a fresh jolt of fear down Nicky's spine. 

"This is real,  _ real  _ fucking bad," Daddy says again, hands and voice both shaking as she grabs her towel and wraps it around herself. 

Nicky doesn't think she's lying.    
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all!
> 
> This story is going to get much, much darker from now on, so if that's not something you're interested in, that's totally okay! :) 
> 
> Just be careful and keep in mind that I ALWAYS put trigger warnings for a reason, and you don't have to read anything you're not comfortable reading. 
> 
> TW for r*pe at the end of the chapter and implied dubcon throughout.

"You  _ really  _ fucked me up here, Nichols." 

Daddy had grabbed Nicky by the sleeve and pulled her into an empty aisle in the library, pinning her up against a bookshelf. Normally, if a hot girl had pinned Nicky Nichols up against a bookshelf, she'd cream in her khakis. 

But Daddy wasn't just any regular hot girl, and Nicky was pretty damn sure that Daddy had a shiv tucked in her waistband.

"Don't give me that shit, it's your fault too," Nicky snarls, shoving the Latina away. 

"You were the one that stepped into the shower and  _ fucked  _ me, Nichols," Daddy hisses, grabbing Nicky by the elbow and pulling her too close for comfort. 

_ Close enough to kiss,  _ Nicky thinks, but she pushes the thought down before she can act on it. 

"Oh, it's all the top's fault. Fuck me, I've never heard that one before," Nicky mocks, uncurling Daddy's hand from her elbow finger by finger. She'll  _ never  _ get used to that grip.

Daddy smirks. Crosses her arms over her chest. Laughs. "You weren't a top when we were in the closet that one time. Remember? I got like, four fingers in--" 

"Okay, okay, that's enough. My point is, if you're lookin' for someone to blame for Diaz ditching your sorry ass, look in the mirror."

That's when Daddy breaks again. 

"You don't get it, do you?" Daddy says with an incredulous scoff, running a hand through her hair. "She broke up with me, which means I have to find a new pipeline and I need to find one fast. You gonna help me with that?"

Nicky's eyes widen. 

"Holy fuck," she whispers, heart pounding a rhythm so fast it's painful. "You really  _ are  _ screwed." 

She knows what it's like in here. There's no excuses, no slack-cutting, no forgiveness or mercy or any of that shit. 

It's _ ruthless  _ and  _ dangerous  _ and  _ terrible.  _

No, Daddy is not a good person. 

Nicky knows this to be true, knows this terrible truth deep in her bones. 

But the thought that Daddy will be dead at the end of the week turns her guts into liquid. 

"Yeah, no  _ shit _ , Sherlock. I owe people money, I owe people a steady supply. I don't have either of those right now, so unless you're gonna help me out, fuck off." 

Something inside of Nicky twists then snaps, and the next thing she says is so  _ incredibly _ ,  _ unfathomably  _ stupid that she can hear Red screaming at her all the way from SHU. 

"Fuck you, Duarte." 

Daddy reels back in shock, eyes wide and lower lip trembling. 

It's been _ years  _ since someone has spoken to her like that. Barb's given her protection, given her everything she's ever wanted as long as she was a good girl, opened and shut her mouth when she was told and did everything Barb wanted her to. 

But Barb is dead.

Barb is dead, and Daddy is left vulnerable and broken and bare. 

"What the  _ fuck  _ did you just--" 

"Oh, you fuckin' heard me. All you're good for is  _ fucking  _ and  _ pimping  _ and  _ selling  _ and  _ ruining lives,  _ because you don't give a single flying  _ fuck  _ about anyone else but yourself, and don't even  _ try  _ to act like that's not the truth," Nicky snarls, jabbing a finger against Daddy's chest and backing her up against the wall. 

Nicky's eyes are darker, more full of hate than Daddy has ever seen them. 

It makes her stomach churn.

"You stay the  _ fuck  _ away from me. And this time, I mean it." 

Nicky pushes her to the side like she's nothing. 

And maybe she is.

*

"Where's my fuckin' money?" 

Hellman grabs her by the elbow and wrenches Daddy to the side, out of view of everyone else. She can practically feel the bruises forming on her skin, and the still-present churning in her stomach is of no help either.

"I'm working something out right now, you'll have it in a couple days," Daddy says smoothly, fear already beginning to well up in her chest. She knows what Hellman is capable of, what  _ all _ of them are capable of. 

She still remembers what C.O Enders tasted like.

What Barb tasted like.

Daddy closes her eyes. Tries to breathe. 

_ I do what I need to do to survive. I do what I need to do to survive. I do what I need to do-- _

"You said you'd have it for me  _ today _ ," Hellman seethes through gritted teeth, anger laced through every word. 

"That's not gonna happen, okay? Something came up. I'm handling it, so you don't gotta worry," she says, her words low and calculated and calm, because she's so fucking  _ desperate _ to keep up this facade that she's spent so much time constructing. 

_ In, out. In, out. In, out. Inoutinoutinout-- _

"I'm not worried, I'm  _ pissed off _ . Get it to me by today or you'll be in for a week-long vacation in SHU," he whispers, giving her arm a final warning squeeze before leaving. 

Daddy races into her cell, vomit narrowly missing the toilet. 

* 

Nicky slides down the yard wall until her ass hits the concrete floor, resting her head in her hands. Yes, she did the right thing  _ but did she really  _ and yes, she promised herself that she'd stay the fuck away from Daddy  _ but would she  _ and there are so many unknowns swirling around her head right now and  _ she really wishes she was high.  _

"Hey, Nichols!" 

_ Vause  _ of all people is walking towards her, glasses tucked into her shirt pocket and an unusually bright smile plastered on her features. 

"Hey, Stretch, how they hangin'?" Nicky deadpans, scratching the side of her head. 

Vause's mouth quirks up in an amused grin. Sure, she might be prison married, but what's a little harmless flirting with her former prison lover/self-proclaimed junkie philosopher? 

"How are you, Nichols?" she says, taking a seat next to the redhead.

"Oh, y'know, this and that," Nicky mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.  _ Going down on my former drug dealer in the showers, just a casual Saturday. How 'bout you, Vause? _

"That's really specific," Vause says, 

"What can I say, I'm guarded. Blame it on eighteen years of belonging to the Cult of Marka Nichols."

Vause laughs, but doesn't relent. "No, really. What's going on with you? Come on, tell me all the juicy deets. Now that Piper's gone, I don't have anything to do around here."

Nicky shudders. "Please don't ever say 'juicy deets' again. But if you  _ really  _ wanna know…" 

The redhead looks around for a moment (can never be  _ too  _ sure of who's listening, maybe even Barb's ghost) and leans in close, her voice a hushed whisper.

"You know Diaz's girlfriend?" 

"Yeah," Vause says slowly, a crease forming in the middle of her eyebrows. "Why?" 

"Well, lately, we have been...how might I put this?  _ Entangled _ ."

There's a long, pregnant pause before Vause says something, an angry scoff passing through her lips. 

"No way, Nichols. No fuckin' way. She's a drug dealer, for Christ's sake, and you're-- well, you're  _ you _ ."

Nicky's heart plummets to her stomach. Yes, she knew her...whatever the fuck it was with Daddy was unhealthy and wrong and dangerous for her in any number of ways, but to actually hear it out of Vause's mouth made her want to be sick. 

"I know, I know," she says. "But we had a little shindig during my first stint here, and we picked it back up a while ago. Minus the, uh, exchange of pussy licking for heroin, of course." 

"She's _ dangerous,  _ Nicky. You need to stay the fuck away from her."

"I  _ know  _ that, okay?" Nicky snaps, fingers curling into claws against the scuffed-up concrete of the ground. 

She shuts her eyes.  _ Alex's just trying to help,  _ she thinks. "I know that," she says, gentler this time. "And that's why I put a stop to that shit."

But after all, maybe Nicky Nichols is just this fucked-up universe's fucked-up pawn and eventually, inevitably, she'll come crawling back to Daddy saying shit like  _ I need you _ and  _ I love you  _ and  _ I want you but I'll never admit it.  _

Vause gives her a doubtful glance. 

"For serious, Vause." Nicky claps her hands together. "Mama's done."

Vause's nose wrinkles and she makes a gagging noise. "If I can't say 'juicy deets', you can't refer to yourself as 'Mama'. It's fuckin' weird." 

"Sorry," Nicky murmurs out the corner of her mouth, but it's far from what she's  _ really _ apologizing for. 

"So, uh! How's blondie? You talk to her lately?" the redhead offers, giving Vause a playful nudge in the side. 

Vause sighs, puts on her glasses, and gets up from the ground. "I don't wanna talk about her right now." 

"Oh, uh…" 

Vause leaves. Vause leaves, and with her goes any semblance of comfort or peace or  _ happiness  _ that Nicky had. 

God, this  _ fucking  _ hurts. 

*

"Knock, knock, sugar tits." 

"Jesus  _ fucking  _ Christ, Hellman," Daddy groans, running a hand over her face. "What do you want, baldy?"

"You still haven't fuckin' paid me yet, so take a guess," Hellman says, that same sarcastic, know-it-all grin still present when he places his hands on his hips. 

_ I'm not afraid of him. I'm not afraid of him. I'm not afraid of anything.  _

"I told you, I can't get it for you today. You'll have your money soon, just later than you expected," Daddy says, grabbing her toothbrush with shaking hands and standing over the sink. Bile is already starting to pool in the back of her throat. 

"Now can you get the fuck out so I can brush my teeth and go to bed?" she deadpans. 

A sinister, evil smirk tugs at Hellman's upper lip.

"Well, I, uh...I take other forms of payment, Duarte." 

Hellman reaches behind him and closes the cell door. 

_ No.  _

"What the fuck are you doing?" she gasps, but she already knows what he wants from her. 

"Shut up," he growls. 

It all happens so quickly. 

He's slapping her in the face and pinning her down to the mattress and undoing his zipper and tearing off her pants and underwear and then he's forcing himself inside her, and she's begging for him to stop and crying and screaming and  _ ithurtssobadithurtssobadpleasestop--- _

And she can't fucking  _ believe  _ that this is happening to her, that she's somehow expected to put herself together again when this is all over. 

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growls in her ear, hands sure to form bruises on her hips as a choked sob scrapes the walls of her throat. His teeth sink into her shoulder, his groans reverberating up and down her spine  _ anditmakeshersofuckingsick.  _

This is what she deserves. This is what  _ she deserves,  _ because how many fucking times did she tell some greasy-ass motherfucker that he could be as rough as he wanted with one of her girls? She covered up for Felipe, too, she covered up for the murder of one of  _ her  _ girls, the ones she lulled into her bed and into her lifestyle with whispers of how she would  _ always _ take care of them.

She's jerked out of her thoughts when she feels him cum inside of her, bile burning in her throat. 

"I think you might have enjoyed that, Duarte," Hellman says oh-so casually when she slides off the mattress, limp and boneless and ruined. 

"You sure you're a fuckin' dyke?" he whispers, crouching down to meet her gaze.

And with that, he leaves her. 

When she finally looks in the mirror after over an hour, what she sees makes her stomach turn.

There's a furious pink mark where he slapped her, and there's blood streaming down from her nose and smeared across her mouth.

_ Pathetic _ . 

She doesn't muster up the courage to reach between her thighs. 

She knows there's blood there, too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again- 
> 
> Like I said in the beginning note, this story is going to get much darker. I'll put trigger warnings at the beginnings of every chapter I feel needs them, so please check before reading :) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Chapter ten coming soon. I hope.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for r*pe and thoughts of self harm.

The first thing Daddy does that morning is shower. 

She spent all night unable to sleep, staring at the ceiling and willing for the cramp in her belly to go away, burying her face in her pillow and sobbing at the sticky feeling between her thighs. 

She feels  _ disgusting _ . 

Filthy.

And Daddy  _ knows,  _ of course. She knows that she's easily replaceable, that the only reason the girls in here flock to her is because of what she can give them. She can fuck them in utility closets and showers and she can slip them little baggies of white powder and pills at her own discretion.

Maybe Nicky was right. That's all she'll ever be good for. 

Daddy closes the shower curtain behind her (well, can it really be a curtain if it's iron bars?) and turns on the water, welcoming the relentless spray even if it almost knocks her on her ass. 

She wants to get clean. Wash  _ him  _ off of her.

She met Barb the first time she showered here, come to think of it. Hands covering her body the best she could, eyes squeezed shut, praying this was all some horrible nightmare and she'd wake up in her own bed any minute now. 

That was when Daddy had noticed  _ her _ . 

She had turned around and there Barb was, head cocked to the side and arms crossed in front of her chest. No, Barb didn't  _ look  _ threatening-- she looked like any old Burger King crackhead with six kids and seven baby daddies and a Mountain Dew addiction. 

But there was something about her, something Daddy didn't quite understand, that sent a chill of ice down her spine and forced her to tear her gaze away from the woman. 

_ 'You're a pretty girl, aren't you?'  _ Barb had crooned, stepping into the shower and closing the distance between them. 

_ 'Uh, thanks,'  _ Daddy had muttered, frozen stuck in place. Her stomach had churned almost painfully as the older woman thumbed at her jawline, a thin pink scar marring the brunette's cheek. She had been there for  _ years,  _ probably, she'd paid her dues to the fucked-up prison system.

_ 'I'm Barb. Why don't you dry off and come and find me when you're ready, okay sweetheart?'  _ the brunette had whispered after what seemed to be a full minute of silence, tucking a wet lock of hair behind Daddy's ear and strolling away like nothing had ever happened. 

And of course, the rest was history. 

Daddy feels the same way she did back then--- hopeless, helpless, and fucking  _ disgusting.  _

She misses Barb, of course. Doesn't want to admit it, she  _ never  _ wants to admit any shortcomings or weaknesses or show anything that could  _ possibly  _ be preyed upon, because that's the lesson she learned years and years ago and that's what she's stuck by for just as long. 

Barb would pat a knee, mutter a soft  _ 'C'mere, sweetie,'  _ and Daddy would rest her head on the older woman's leg, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. She'd make Daddy feel  _ safe,  _ feel  _ loved.  _ Something she'd only ever dreamed of. 

Sure, there were plenty of girls that  _ wanted  _ her as long as she was useful to them, but none of them had ever really and truly loved her. 

_ Barb  _ had.  _ Barb  _ was the only person in the entire world that had loved her, despite her quirks and her eccentricities and her occasional threats of shivving Daddy in her sleep.

Now she was dead. 

And Daddy was never, ever going to feel loved or protected or even fucking  _ happy  _ ever again. 

Daddy doesn't know how long she stays like that-- arms wrapped around herself, eyes closed, desperately trying to check out and go into another world where she  _ hasn't  _ just been raped, where Hellman  _ hasn't _ bent her over her bunk and broke her without thinking twice. 

_ I was just raped,  _ she thinks, watching the water cascade down her body and disappear into the drain.  _ I was just raped, I was just raped, I was just fucking raped.  _

The words swirl around her head  _ hundredsthousandsmillions  _ of times until Daddy feels like splitting her head open against the wall, so she grabs her towel and wraps it around her body and steps out of the shower. 

When she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she doesn't see Daddy anymore. 

She sees Dominga, and she is forced to remember that 'Daddy' is nothing more than a facade she created years ago. 

When she's gathered up enough saliva, she spits at her reflection and leaves. 

*

"Yo. Punishment's over." 

Daya stands in the doorway of Daddy's cell, holding up a shampoo bottle that's no doubt full of hooch. "Even got you an Adeola special." 

Daddy shakes her head, hiking up the blanket past her chin. She's been in bed the entire day, and the thought of going out there and seeing  _ him  _ makes her stomach turn.

_ You're why this is happening to me,  _ she wants to say, but the words refuse to scrape past the walls of her throat. She doesn't have it in her to spit words of hate right now. 

"Don't want it," Daddy murmurs.

"Okay, I'mma just…leave it here." There's a soft  _ thump  _ when Daya tosses the bottle onto the bed, then again when she plops down next to Daddy. 

"You learned your lesson yet?" the younger woman deadpans. 

_ Wait.  _

_ Did she tell him to--  _

_ No, no, you owed him money, that's why he did  _ that  _ to you, Daya didn't tell him to, she would never do that to you, she  _ loves _ you-- _

"Did you make him fucking rape me?" Daddy blurts out before she can stop herself, chest aching with fear of the unknown. The possibility that Daya has been a part of  _ this _ , part of this horrible fucked-up mess that's stolen Daddy's sense of wholeness. 

"What? What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Daya says incredulously. 

Daddy shakes her head, hands starting to tremble with anger or maybe fear. She doesn't know anymore.

"Don't bullshit me, Dayanara." 

She wants Nicky. She  _ needs  _ Nicky, because Nicky is not a monster of Daddy's own creation. Nicky is good and kind and loving and everything Daddy refuses to let herself need, and it's too late for her to do anything about it.

"I- I'm not bullshittin' you, I don't know what you're even  _ talkin' _ about." 

She has to say it. She  _ has  _ to say it, force the words past her throat and make them roll off her tongue. 

Admit what  _ he's  _ done to her. 

"Hellman raped me." 

Daya's jaw drops open. "What?" 

The words hang in the air, permeating the silence and any sense of security Daddy had before she spoke those terrible, awful words. 

Daya's eyes grow black with hate. 

"I'mma kill that piece of shit." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all--
> 
> I know that was a little shorter than normal, but I hope it was still enjoyable :) thank you for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to r*pe along with panic attacks.

It's been two days since the incident. 

Daddy hasn't slept. Hasn't eaten. Not that she wants to in the first place, because every time she sleeps she wakes up screaming  _ get off get off get off  _ and every time she eats, she can't keep it down for long. 

Tina pokes her head in the doorway, a toothy, nearly feral grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Gonna come out for chow?" 

"No." 

Tina furrows her brow. "Why not?" 

"'Cause I don't want to, alright? Now fuck off," Daddy snarls, but then her stomach growls in protest and  _ fuck it,  _ she might as well try to keep some food down. 

"Okay, fine, you win," she whispers hoarsely, tossing her blanket to the side and getting up from her mattress. 

Daddy grabs a tray and sits down at one of the long metal tables, dots of color swimming in front of her vision. 

She's fucking _ exhausted,  _ both physically and mentally, and she's not sure how much more--

Fuck. 

Oh,  _ fuck.  _

_ He's  _ there. 

Hellman is leaning against the wall, staring straight through Daddy like he knows everything about her, all her secrets and things she's never told anyone and when his upper lip curls into a smirk, it says that he  _ knows  _ what he's done to her, that he knows he's broken her and he's not ashamed of it. 

Her chest feels tight and her hands are starting to shake and her head is spinning and she's  _ gone gone gone  _

"Duarte? Duarte, hey, I need you to listen to me," somebody says, clutching at her shoulders, cupping her face. 

"Get away--  _ getawayorillfuckingkillyou _ \--" Daddy growls, blindly trying to bat away whoever's touching her. 

"Duarte, it's just me," the voice says again, gravelly and hoarse and sounding far too much like Joe Pesci, and it's  _ Nicky,  _ Nicky crouching next to her and something her hair back, trying to bring her back with soothing, gentle words, but all it does is make Daddy even sicker. 

Daddy clutches at her chest, everything going a hot, blinding white. She doesn't feel Nicky's hands clasping her shoulders, she doesn't hear Tina asking if she's okay, all she can feel is  _ his  _ hands on her,  _ him  _ pushing her down to the mattress and having his way with her. 

She can smell  _ his _ sweat and stale breath,  _ his _ groans in her ear,  _ him _ tearing her apart and ripping her open and she doesn't know what's real anymore. 

Somehow, eventually, they end up in Daddy's cell, Daddy sitting on the bed and Nicky kneeling next to her. 

"I need you to breathe, okay?" Nicky says gently, her own heart racing as she thumbs circles on Daddy's jawline. "Can you do that for me?" 

"No, no," Daddy sobs, the concept of breathing  _ impossible  _ to fathom. She can't  _ possibly _ breathe, not when  _ he  _ is standing right outside with that horrible fucking smirk on his face, when everything around her reminds her that she will  _ never  _ be the same. 

"Just-- just try to hold your breath for a second, okay?" Nicky croons, grasping Daddy's hand and interlacing their fingers together. 

Daddy nods, burying her face in Nicky's neck, holding her breath until the knot in her chest starts to loosen. Her breathing comes out in harsh, raw gasps, hands clutching onto Nicky like she's her lifeline. 

"C'mere, c'mere, it's okay," Nicky whispers, resting her chin on top of Daddy's head. She can't decide if the feeling bubbling in her stomach is anger, revulsion, or  _ love _ .

Maybe it's a mix of all three. 

Eventually, Daddy's breathing slows. The ache in her chest disappears, and she can finally  _ breathe  _ again.

"I'm fine," Daddy spits out before Nicky can say anything. She rubs her hands over her face. "I'm fine."

"Bullshit. Just tell me what happened, yeah? What's goin' on with you?" Nicky says. 

"There's nothing to tell, I said I'm  _ fine _ ," Daddy spits, like if she keeps saying it it'll come true.

"I repeat. Bullshit." 

Daddy's jaw clenches. "Fuck you, Nichols." 

"Well, I know for you, that means 'I love you and I worship the very ground you walk on' so I'm gonna ask again. What the  _ fuck  _ is going on with you?" 

"Hellman do something to you?" 

"Why do you say that?" 

"Eh, it may have something to do with the fact that when he breathed in your general direction, you started freakin' out," 

Daddy shrugs. "There's nothing goin' on, Nichols. You're pulling stuff out of your ass."

"My ass isn't big enough for that, sweetheart. Now,  _ Mendoza,  _ that I could see. The lady's got quite a magnificent donk on her, in case you haven't--" 

"Just shut up and go." 

Nicky goes quiet. "He beat you?" 

Daddy swallows the bile pooling on her tongue. 

And then, she  _ lies,  _ because that has always been easier than admitting how incredibly weak she is. 

"Yeah. He, uh, he beat the shit out of me. Not anywhere you could see, though, he's too smart for that shit."

"Okay, okay, uh...does Daya know?" 

"Yeah, she knows."  _ Please don't ask her.  _

"And she hasn't ripped out his organs and made him wear 'em like an Etsy bacon scarf?" 

"I- I don't know  _ what  _ she's gonna do, or if she's gonna do anything in the first place. If Barb were still alive--" 

"If Barb were still alive, she wouldn't do jack shit because she was a psychopathic senior citizen that didn't care about anyone or anything but drugs and Trivial Pursuit."

"She was like, fifty, Nichols."

"Okay, okay, whatever. You worked things out with Little Miss Gate Gay, right?" 

"Yeah, as much as you can work things out with her."  _ Liar,  _ the voice in Daddy's head screams.  _ You're a fucking liar.  _

"So, uh. You should be fine, right?" Nicky says, probing the inside of her cheek with her tongue. How  _ dare  _ he fucking touch Daddy, how  _ dare  _ he beat her black and blue and bloody, and even though she can't see the bruises she can still feel rage burning in her stomach.n

"Yeah. Uh, Daya'll make sure he doesn't step out of line again. She feels real bad too, 'cause the whole reason he beat my ass was because she cut me out, so--" 

_ liar liar liar _

"Alright. Peace out, little lady," Nicky says nonchalantly. There's nothing she can do about it anymore, Daddy's an adult, she can make her own decisions and it's none of Nicky's damn business. 

She still feels sick to her stomach. 

"Nicky, wait. Don't go," Daddy calls. Her heart is pounding so hard it hurts, the blood rushing through her ears nearly deafening. 

"Mm, nope, I ain't falling for that shtick again. Nicky Nichols,  _ out _ ."

Nicky almost believes herself. 

"Nicky,  _ please _ ," Daddy says, and she  _ hates  _ herself for how fucking weak she sounds. 

He's taken  _ so much  _ from her. Taken everything she's forced herself to become over the past years,  _ ruined  _ her. 

Despite every fiber in her body screaming at her not to, to  _ go _ , to  _ leave _ , Nicky turns around. 

"What?" 

She can't say it. Can't admit it again, can't tell another soul about what  _ he's  _ done to her. Her stomach aches with guilt. 

"Nevermind," Daddy whispers, because  _ there's no fucking way  _ she can say it again. 

Nicky nods. Grimaces. "That's what I thought," she murmurs, knocking against the door as a goodbye before leaving Daddy alone. 

"Fuck," Daddy sobs, tangling her hands in her hair and pulling until it burns. 

She's never,  _ ever  _ going to be okay again. 

And it's all her fucking fault. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this story hurts my soul :( 
> 
> With that being said! It's gonna be real dark for a while, but eventually, we WILL get some good stuff going. No spoilers, though. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for referenced r*pe.

It's been a month. 

Life's returned to some semblance of normal since what happened.

Well, as normal as life can be when you're a drug-dealing pimp in prison. 

But  _ he  _ hasn't touched her since then, and that's all that matters.

Nicky still won't talk to her, and frankly, Daddy doesn't blame her. Sure, she's cast her a few blank looks and those awkward lipless white-person smiles, but that's it. 

She's not good for Nicky, that much she knows. Maybe it's better that she stays away despite the throbbing ache in her chest that screams  _ Nicky Nicky Nicky  _ or the fact that life feels so  _ empty  _ without her. 

"I ain't forgot about what he did to you." 

Daddy is jerked out of her thoughts by Daya plopping down next to her and shoving a bag of chips in her lap. She frowns, gingerly opening the bag and staring blankly at her girlfriend. 

"It's a present," the younger woman says with a grin. 

Accepting her answer, Daddy shrugs.  _ And it ain't even my birthday. _

"I'll make him pay, honest. That boiled egg lookin' motherfucker doesn't know who he's messin' with," Daya snarls, pounding her fist into her open palm. She stares up at Daddy for a second, like she's trying to gain the older woman's approval. 

_ See what I'm willin' to do for you?  _ Daya thinks, but she never says it aloud. 

"It's fine, baby, it's over," Daddy murmurs, tossing a chip into her mouth. 

"No, it--" 

" _ Baby _ . It's over, okay? Don't make it worse than it already is," Daddy says firmly, jabbing a warner finger against Daya's chest.

"Fine. But if he so much as looks at you wrong, I'm making him wear his balls as earrings, alright?" 

"Alright, alright. Deal."

"Cool. I'll see you later," Daya croons, wiggling her tongue suggestively before leaving the older woman's cell. 

Daddy chuckles under her breath. Sure, she's no Nicky, but Daya has her moments. Even though most of them are cunnilingus related. 

Daddy feels that familiar burn of bile in her throat, nausea curling low in her stomach, and before she knows it she's throwing up into the sink. 

"Fuck," she gasps, resting her sweaty forehead against the wall. She's thrown up every day for now for a good week, and she can't fucking figure out  _ why _ . 

Stomach bug? Expired commissary snacks? Who knows, but if Daddy has to rinse out her mouth one more goddamn fucking time--

"Guess who's back from the Hamptons?" 

Mendoza leans against the doorway to Daddy's cell. She looks more worn-out and beaten down than Daddy has ever seen her, and nothing like the 'total MILF' Daya described her as. 

She  _ has  _ been in the SHU for months after all. Wasn't like she was gonna come out looking like Cindy Crawford or some shit. 

"Hey, Mendoza," Daddy mutters, wiping her mouth clean of vomit. Her tongue feels sour and too large for her mouth, and her teeth are already starting to feel brittle. 

"How you feelin'?" Mendoza says softly, taking a seat on Daddy's mattress.  _ That's a bold move _ , Daddy thinks to herself, but she's too busy gargling mouthwash to say shit. 

"Well, considering I just threw up everything I've eaten the past couple days, not so good," Daddy deadpans, coughing up the last of the bile into the sink. 

"You know, if we was down the hill, I could whip up something that would make you feel better," Mendoza says with a smirk and a little shoulder roll motion. 

"Yeah?" Daddy says, feigning interest.  _ Here she goes again with all her Santeria bullshit.  _

"Yeah. Magic and parsley, my two favorite ingredients." 

"Yeah, sounds great. Listen, uh, do you think it's a stomach bug or something? 'Cause that's the only thing I can think of."

Mendoza goes quiet for a second. Draws her bottom lip between her teeth. 

"What about your period? Is it late?" 

"Yeah, I guess, but--" 

"Cramps? Tired all the time? Tits hurting?" 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? And yes to all of those."

Mendoza clicks her tongue, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Honey, that's not a stomach bug," she croons. "Who's the C.O?" 

Daddy's heart leaps into her chest, dread beginning to pool in the bottom of her stomach.  _ Could she be... _

"Fuck you, Mendoza," she spits before the thought can form. "You know I'm not like that." 

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was talking to the next Virgin Mary. Besides, you're no stranger to guard fucking. I heard you really rocked C.O Enders' world--" 

"I'm  _ not  _ pregnant," Daddy hisses, more to convince herself than Mendoza. 

"There's no way," she says, but there is and she knows it deep within her bones.

"Okay, so you're not a gold star lesbian no more. Big deal," Mendoza says with a scoff and a flick of her hand. She picks up a magazine off Daddy's desk and leafs through it, apparently  _ super  _ interested in catching up on Fall 2013 trends. 

"I…it wasn't on purpose," Daddy whispers, closing her eyes and letting out a tremulous breath.  _ What the fuck am I doing?  _

Mendoza looks up at her, her face the mask of horror. 

Daddy stays silent, because she can't bring herself to say another word. 

But she's said enough. She's said enough for Mendoza to know  _ exactly _ what happened to her, what  _ he  _ did--

"Fuck," Mendoza curses through gritted teeth. "Tell me who it was." She tosses the magazine to the side and stands up, brown eyes imploring Daddy for an answer.

That's when Daddy breaks. 

She buries her face in Mendoza's neck and sobs open-mouthed, chest aching from the force of her gasps and cries. Mendoza stiffens at first, then holds her close, fingers calloused from years of hard work carding gently through Daddy's hair. 

Daddy's not here right now. She is  _ not  _ here right now, she is anywhere but here. 

She is six years old and curled up in her mother's lap and watching cartoons. It's just the two of them now, something Daddy will not understand until years later.

She is sixteen years old and she's tipsy for the first time, arm slung around a girl with eyes the color of the sky and her head thrown back in laughter. 

She is holding Nichols  _ so close  _ and whispering words of sweet nonsense, and when Nichols falls asleep in her arms, she whispers a gentle 'I love you' and barely regrets it. 

She is not here, she is  _ anywhere  _ but here. 

"It's okay,  _ mija,  _ it's okay," Mendoza whispers, gently guiding the younger woman down on the bed. What the hell is she doing, holding the person that fucked up her Daya beyond repair? 

But Daddy  _ needs  _ her right now, so Mendoza sucks it up and pushes it down. 

"Look, I know we got our shit and all, but you still didn't deserve that," Mendoza says gently when Daddy pulls away. The younger woman nods, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms. 

"Does Daya know?" 

"She does, but I don't know if she's gonna do anything to him," the younger woman mutters. Sure, she's told Daya to fuck off, but--

"If she don't, I will." 

"No, you won't," Daddy says sternly, grabbing Mendoza by the shoulders. Her heart pounds so hard it hurts. "I'm not letting anyone know about this, I can handle it myself."

"Oh, great idea. How exactly do you plan to do that, now that you're pregnant with his  _ fucking  _ baby?" 

"I'll figure out my shit, Mendoza. I don't need your help," Daddy says, the lie rolling off her tongue with surprising ease. 

"That's bullshit and you know it," Mendoza retorts, grabbing Daddy by the wrists. "You need help, you can't just brush this under the rug and pretend it never happened."

"No, what's _ bullshit _ is you comin' in here like you own the fuckin' place acting like you know what's best for me," Daddy growls, wrenching herself out of Mendoza's grip and shoving the older woman away.

She's angry now-- angry at herself for letting this happen to her, angry at Nicky for not being there, angry at Mendoza because deep down inside, she knows she's right. 

Mendoza lets out a tremulous breath of her own, resting her head in her hands. "Okay, maybe you're right. I don't know what's best for you, but--" 

"Yeah, exactly." 

"But what if it happens to you again, baby? Then what are you gonna do?" Mendoza says gently, inching closer to Daddy with every word. She takes the younger woman by the hand, rubbing small circles on her skin. 

Daddy swallows the bile burning in her throat. "It won't happen again." She can't think about that, can't consider that as a possibility. She'll fucking  _ shatter  _ if she does. 

Mendoza gives her a look that's half pity, half something Daddy doesn't recognize, and for the second time in a matter of minutes Daddy is a sobbing, broken mess. 

She's pregnant. She's pregnant with  _ his  _ baby, carrying proof of what he's done to her inside of her and there's fucking  _ nothing  _ she can do about it but pray this is all some horribly fucked up dream. 

"We'll figure it out," Mendoza whispers, holding Daddy close again. "You'll be okay." 

_ Bullshit,  _ Daddy wants to scream, but she only hugs Mendoza harder. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay--
> 
> Please bear with me!!!! I know it's sad and angsty right now but we WILL get some happy happy fun time for our girls soon. I promise. 
> 
> Thank you again for reading! Feel free to leave a comment :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! 
> 
> I just want to make something clear: this story is very depressing and deals with a lot of dark stuff. I will always put a trigger warning in the beginning notes of every chapter, so please please please make sure to read them. I don't want to be responsible for triggering or upsetting anyone. 
> 
> Tw: References to r*pe

_ I'm pregnant.  _

The words haven't stopped pounding in her brain since last week. 

Daddy tried to lie to herself, of course. Shit, it's not like she pissed on a stick or anything, she didn't even know for certain. 

But she saw that look in Mendoza's eyes, that look of  _ knowing _ , of seeing yourself in someone else. 

And that was all she needed. 

She had to tell Hellman. She had to look that fucking  _ monster  _ in the eyes and tell him what he'd done to her, that he had fucked her up beyond repair. 

Maybe he'd have Daddy transferred to Missouri or Ohio or somewhere far away. Or maybe he'd 'accidentally' push her down some stairs, beat the shit out of her and claim that she came after him first. Anything to get rid of  _ it _ .

Daddy sighs, resting her head in her hands and her elbows on her knees. Her stomach is churning so hard it hurts, something that happens so often now she barely even notices when it does. The thought that she's carrying  _ his baby  _ inside of her sends a chill of terror down her spine, and the rush of nausea that comes with it has her spewing her guts into the sink. 

"Hey, Duarte. That Cold War era baloney not agreein' with you?" Nicky drawls, strolling. into Daddy's cell uninvited. 

_ Typical Nichols.  _

"What do you want, Nichols?" Daddy deadpans, throat burning with bile. 

"Shit, you sure do ask me that a lot," Nicky says with a chuckle, ignoring the pang of hurt that strikes low in her stomach. She should be used to it by now, but...

"I'll stop asking when you give me a straight answer." 

"Would you settle for a bi-curious answer?" 

Daddy gives her an unamused glare. 

Nicky sighs, raising her hands in defeat. "Okay, okay,  _ carpe diem _ . Just wanted to see if you needed something. I heard that you're sick, so--" 

"I'm not sick," Daddy spits against her better judgment.  _ Fuck, what did I just do? Am I really going to tell her?  _ she thinks, fingertips numb and chest tight with panic. 

"Ah, I see. So all that, uh, puking and clammy skin and whatnot is just me hallucinating, is that right?" 

"No, it's-- it's not." 

"Okay. You ain't sick, I'm not hallucinating. So why are you throwin' up?" 

Daddy runs her tongue over her bottom lip. She can't lie her way out of this anymore. "I'm pregnant," she whispers. 

Nicky's eyes widen to the size of plates, mouth hanging open in shock. "You're, you're serious?" she stammers. 

Daddy nods, tears she's been holding back for far too long burning at the corners of her eyes. 

Nicky laughs, a high-pitched wheezing cackle that makes Daddy's jaw tighten. 

"Oh, don't tell me you busted a move on Luschek. I mean, if you're gonna give up your gold star lesbian status, at least do it with a dignified individual," the redhead says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, throwing her head back and laughing again. 

_ Fuck this.  _

"Hellman raped me," Daddy says, the words falling from her lips before she can stop them. 

There. It's done. Out in the open, and she can't take it back no matter how much she tries to. 

The blood drains from Nicky's face. "You- you said he beat you." 

"I lied, fuckin' genius. He bent me over that bunk right there and he raped me and he--" 

"Oh,  _ fuck _ \--" 

"He got me fucking pregnant." 

Nicky swallows the bile on her tongue, heart already starting to race."If this is some fucked up, twisted joke then it's not--" 

"It's not a joke, Nichols. Ask Mendoza, she'll tell you about it. No, better yet, ask Daya. She's the reason I'm in this shit in the first place," Daddy snarls, slamming her palm against the wall. Pain shoots up her wrist, but it's  _ nothing  _ compared to what she's already been through. 

Nicky's stomach tightens painfully. 

_ Fuck.  _ Could Daya even be capable of something like that? No, not her, the girl with big eyes and a sweet smile, the girl who used to spend all her time drawing in notebooks and swooning over that Bennett guy. 

_ No, not her.  _

But she's changed the past few months, and not for the better. 

And Nicky can't recognize her anymore. 

"Did she make him rape you?" the redhead says, angry heat rushing through her veins. 

"She broke up with me while I owed Hellman money, and when I couldn't give it to him…" 

"But she didn't actually--" 

"That doesn't  _ fucking  _ matter." 

Nicky pulls at her mass of red curls, letting out a tremulous breath.  _ Think, Nicky,  _ she tells herself.  _ What would Red do? Probably shove Hellman's toothbrush up her snatch.  _

"You-- you need to go--" 

"I need to what? Go to the warden? She won't do anything, Nicky," Daddy says angrily, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

"What makes you so sure, about that, huh? There are good ones out there," Nicky shoots back. Well, more like  _ one  _ good one-- Luschek. And even that was a stretch, but at least he was no rapist.

"No such thing as a good screw." 

"Screw? What is this, Wentworth? Should I call you Bea Smith now?" 

"There's not a single cop in this joint that actually gives a fuck. When are you going to learn that?" 

Nicky stares at the other woman, her heart and stomach sinking in tandem. Daddy looks so  _ pale,  _ so sick, without any remnants of that so called stupid fucking bullshit 'pregnancy glow.' 

She looks nothing like herself. 

Fuck. Hellman really did break her. 

"Duarte…" Nicky starts off gently. 

Daddy fixes her with a stone cold, furious glare. "Get out, Nicky. Get the fuck out." 

"No, no, I'm not going  _ anywhere _ \--" 

"Is this your cell, Nichols?" 

_ Hellman. _

Nicky's heart skips a beat, and she wills herself to turn around. 

"Oh, mercy me! I could've sworn it was," she says a little too loudly, forcing herself to chuckle despite Hellman's hateful, sickening stare. 

"Hey man, maybe I'm goin' senile at thirty-two. That's a real possibility, Hellman, given that my brain cells are _totally_ and utterly fried--" 

"Get out, Nichols, before I drag you out," Hellman snarls, jabbing a thick, meaty finger at the doorway. 

"Uh-huh, you got it, pal," Nicky mutters, swallowing the saliva that's accumulated in her mouth. As much as she'd like to spit on that fuckin' ugly bald head, she knows it won't do her nor Daddy a lick of good.

_ Fucking pig,  _ she thinks. 

Nicky shoots Daddy one last look over her shoulder before walking away, and with her goes any semblance of security that Daddy's had. 

Hellman's upper lip curls into something that's almost a smile. "I just wanted to make sure we're all on the same page here, Duarte." 

"Oh, sure. No problems here." 

"Don't get cute with me, you little cunt," he snarls, grabbing Daddy by the arm and squeezing hard enough to bruise. "You know what I'm talking about." 

"I haven't told anyone about what happened," Daddy says quietly, ignoring the throb that's already beginning to develop in her arm. She's forced herself to ignore a lot of things lately. 

"That's it, Duarte. Be a good girl, keep quiet, and everything might just turn out in your favor," Hellman croons. 

Fuck it. She can't do this anymore. 

"I'm pregnant," Daddy blurts out before she can stop herself, the words burning hot and horrible on her tongue. 

Hellman furrows his brow, his hand letting go of her arm. "What the fuck do you mean you're pregnant?" he spits. 

"What did you  _ think _ was going to happen, asshole? You didn't think to use a condom and it's not like I can get the morning after pill from the nearest fuckin' Walgreens," Daddy whispers through gritted teeth. Rage pools in her gut, and it's all she can do not to scratch the fucker's eyes out right now. 

"Can't act like nothin' happened, it's too late for that. What are you gonna do?" she hisses, heart pounding in her ears with every word. 

"I'll figure it out," Hellman says, voice low in warning. His eyes are dark with hatred, just like Daya's were.

"Figure it out quick, because it's only going to be a matter of time before I can't hide it anymore." 

With that, Hellman finally,  _ finally  _ leaves. 

Daddy collapses bonelessly on her bed, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. Despite herself, a self-satisfied grin tugged at the corner of her mouth-- Hellman was fucking  _ terrified  _ of her. 

She'd seen that raw, unadulterated fear in his eyes, and she could only hope it was half as horrible as what he'd inflicted on her. 

She was exhausted. Maybe it was The Thing inside of her, maybe it was everything else going on, but...shit. She could use a nap. 

Daddy exhales again, another deep, tremulous breath as she grabs her pillow. "Fuck," she murmurs, exhaustion pulling at her core as her eyes close. 

Tomorrow will be more of the same. Throwing up, crying in her pillow til her lungs ache, the constant burn of fear low in her chest. 

But now, she's just so  _ fucking  _ tired that all she wants to do is never wake up. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK hear me out
> 
> This story will become lighter and happier soon- just not quite yet. Please bear with me! I'm a gal of my word. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. You know what I'm super good at? Not updating for months, then popping out two chapters in 24 hours. I'm so talented. You wish you were me. Get on my level. 
> 
> TW: referenced r*pe

"So he knows?" 

"Yeah." 

"What's gonna happen now?" 

"No fuckin' idea." 

"Uh-huh. Cool." 

Daddy and Nicky have been sitting together in the yard for a good half hour now. They're going to have to go back inside in a couple minutes, but that's the farthest thing from Nicky's mind as she sits and soaks up what little sun they have. 

"So, uh. You thinkin' about keeping it?" Nicky awkwardly asks, gently nudging Daddy in the side.  _ Be mindful of the fetus,  _ she thinks to herself. 

Daddy scoffs. "It ain't up to me. Hellman said he was gonna figure it out, which I think means he'll get me something from the outside to get rid of it." 

"Yeah, but...if you had a choice--" 

"I don't, so it doesn't fuckin' matter, Nicky," Daddy snaps, anger curling tight and hot in her gut. She doesn't want to think about this any more than she has to, the fact that she's _ pregnant  _ with a fucking devil spawn-- 

But Nicky looks so soft, and hurt, and-- 

"Sorry, it's the hormones. I get to use that as an excuse for being a cunt now," Daddy says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Like you need an excuse to be a cunt anyway." 

That earns a real smile. Daddy lets out a soft, barely audible chuckle and nudges Nicky's knee with her own. 

"I'd be a horrible mom," Daddy muses a few moments later, pursing her lips with a frown. 

Shit. Wouldn't that be a laugh? Her running after a toddler in public, screaming ' _ get back here, Daddy Junior!'  _ or crying on Daddy Junior's first day of kindergarten, or even better, fifteen years in the future, having to change her name to Grandpa because Daddy Junior couldn't keep it in their pants. 

That would be some sitcom level shit. 

"Yeah, maybe you would be, but--" 

"Jesus  _ fuck,  _ Nicky--" 

"Sorry, sorry. You couldn't be any worse than Les and Marka Nichols, let me tell you that." 

"Bitch, please," Daddy says with a scoff, furrowing her brow. "You grew up with a rich lawyer daddy on the Upper East Side. What'd your parents do to you that was so bad?" 

"Uh, let's see. My mom sent me to sleep away camp when I was three, which, mind you, initiated me calling a vast array of camp counselors 'mommy', my dad went hammer and tongs with all four of my French teachers, my maid practically raised me--" 

"You had a fucking  _ maid _ ?" the Latina says incredulously. 

"Okay, fine, be that way. But my point is, I think you'd be a good mom. As in, you would  _ probably  _ not make your kid turn to heroin."

Daddy rolls her eyes. "Shit, Nicky, you really know how to get a girl all hot and bothered." 

"So I've been told," Nicky retorts, wiggling her tongue suggestively before her face softens. "But, um...if you do end up keepin' it--" 

"No. I am not naming it after you." 

"Okay, can't blame a girl for tryin'. How about--" 

"No. I am not naming them Tegan and Sara if I have twins." 

"Well, now you're just being unreasonable."

"I wouldn't keep it even if I could, Nicky," Daddy says with a shrug, but...she doesn't entirely believe herself now. 

Her stomach rolls at the thought of actually  _ keeping  _ The Thing, having to look at  _ it _ every day thinking  _ this is what he did to me this is what he did to me _ . 

No. No, The Thing didn't deserve a mother that hated it. Daddy had done enough terrible shit in her life, she didn't need to do anymore. 

"You know I'm here for you, right?" Nicky says gently, tone sugary sweet and soft and nothing like it usually is, nothing like Daddy expects it to be. 

Warmth rushes through Daddy's body, spider webs through her veins. "I know, Nicky. I know." 

Daddy's the first one to move.

She presses her mouth against Nicky's so gently that the redhead doesn't even realize what's happening at first, her brain not yet catching up with her body. 

When it does though, she jerks away, blood rushing to her cheeks and through her veins with an intensity that she hasn't felt in far too long. 

"We-- we're in the yard," Nicky says, voice and hands shaking. "Are you sure you wanna--" 

"Relax, Nicky. No one saw. And even if they did, they know better than to say anything to my face." She winks at the redhead, a cocky smile upturning the corner of her mouth. 

Nicky stares at that mouth, that  _ fucking mouth,  _ thinking about all the wonderful things it's capable of. Her cheeks flush again (not to mention parts significantly lower) and  _ shit,  _ maybe kissing Daddy isn't such a bad idea after all-- 

"Duarte, you're comin' with me." 

Stefanovic stands above the two women, arms crossed in front of his chest. He widens his eyes impatiently. " _ Habla ingles?  _ Let's go." 

"Jesus fuckin' shit," Nicky murmurs under her breath. 

"Where are you takin' me?" Daddy snaps, glaring furiously at Stefanovic even as her grip around Nicky's hand tightens. 

"To Hawaii. What do you think?" 

Daddy and Nicky stare blankly at him. 

"Oh, I love sayin' that, gets 'em every time," he says with a too-loud laugh. His face hardens. "But for serious. Move your ass." 

Ten minutes later, Daddy is sitting in a chair across from a stout man with glasses, leafing through paperwork and muttering 'mm-hm' every few moments. 

"Uh, yo, can I at least ask what this is about?" Daddy snaps, arms firmly crossed over her chest. She could be sitting on Nicky's face right now (or Daya's, or Tina's, or Annalisa's, even) but  _ no,  _ she has to deal with this  _ pendejo  _ and his bull--

"Two early releases in six months, that's strange," the man murmurs, furrowing his brow behind his glasses. 

Daddy's train of thought screeches to a halt, her stomach dropping. "Early release?" she says, eyes wide and heart pounding in her ears. 

The man looks up from his paperwork. "Yeah," he deadpans, as if he hasn't just torn Daddy's entire world up from underneath her. "Three days." 

Daddy's shaking now, mind racing a million miles a minute, heart pounding so fast she can barely feel it.  _ I'm getting out,  _ she thinks.  _ I'm getting the fuck out.  _

"C.O Hellman put you down for early release, claimed you were a model inmate." 

The words strike her in the gut.  _ This is Hellman. This is his doing.  _

"Are we done here?" Daddy says, her voice barely above a tremulous whisper. 

"Uh, sure, just tell whoever's coming to get you to expect to be waiting a while, because--" 

Daddy pushes open the door, slamming it shut behind her.

She misses Barb. She misses Barb  _ so  _ fucking bad. Yes, Barb was a monster, a murderer, a psychopath, someone who'd cut your throat in a heartbeat, but she was the closest thing to love that Daddy had ever gotten. 

_ Barb spreads her legs, tugging her sweatpants off and tossing them to the side. She is so dangerous and so beautiful and so terrifying, and Daddy's stomach lurches even as her mouth waters.  _

_ "Good girl, baby," Barb croons and growls, fisting calloused, knotted hands in Daddy's hair and pressing her so close it hurts. Tears are leaking out of the corners of Daddy's eyes, and  _ fuck  _ she can't believe she's eating out a murderer (how despicable is she?) and she  _ especially  _ can't believe she's enjoying it.  _

She knows what she's looking for,  _ who  _ she's looking for- Nicky. 

Daddy shoves her way to Nicky's cell, slamming her palm against the wall and screaming the second she's inside. 

Nicky, suddenly wishing she wore her brown trousers, drops the magazine she's leafing through and jumps up from her bed. 

"What's goin' on, man? What happened?"

"They're givin' me early release."

Nicky's eyes widen in surprise, heart skipping a beat. "Shit, really? Man, that-- that's great, you should be jizzing in your pants right now!" 

Daddy shoots her a glare of disgust. "No, it's not  _ great _ . This is Hellman, this is him shutting me the fuck up," she snarls, clenching her shaking hands into fists. 

Nicky stares in silence, frozen with dread, with  _ fear _ .

"Jesus, Nicky, what the  _ fuck  _ was I thinking? Now he's going to go and rape some other girl, someone that doesn't deserve it--" 

"You didn't deserve it either," the redhead says hurriedly, her stomach rolling with horror, with nausea.  _ Fuck,  _ did Daddy really think that she deserved it?

"I was a  _ pimp  _ on the outside, Nicky. I'm no fuckin' angel either. Do you have any idea what I've done?" 

"That doesn't mean--" 

"What am I going to do out there, Nicky? How am I supposed to survive?" 

And for once, Nicky Nichols is at a loss for words. "I...I don't know." 

"I don't either. And I only have three  _ fucking  _ days to figure it out." 

"Hey, hey, listen to me. You'll be fine! You're…you, after all," Nicky says, forcing a lopsided grin and giving Daddy a playful swat on the arm. 

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Daddy deadpans. 

Fuck, she's not angry at Nicky, she doesn't deserve this.  _ What's wrong with you, Duarte?  _

But she simply can't do this anymore. 

"Yeah. You like it?" the redhead says with a wink. 

Daddy sighs, a deep, tremulous breath that she can feel in her bones. She turns around and walks away, dread pooling low in her stomach. 

Nicky worries her bottom lip between her teeth, tears blooming at the corners of her eyes. No, it's not personal, and yes, she's aware of how much Daddy is hurting, but the ache of rejection and loneliness are still settling beneath her skin. 

And the thought of being  _ here _ , in this indescribably, unfathomably lonely hunk of shit without Daddy is enough to force her into sobs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bit of a dilemma regarding where to go on this story, so I'm going to ask y'all's opinions.
> 
> Should Daddy keep the baby and be domestic cottage-core wives with Nicky while raising their baby together or should Daddy miscarry/get an abortion? 
> 
> I'm aware I sound a little (a lot) like a Wattpad author, but I'm just a tad stuck on how this story should progress regarding that. 
> 
> Let me know what y'all think! Thank you for reading💗


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for references to r*pe.

"Hey, Gloria?" Nicky says, poking her head in the doorway of the older woman's cell.

"Fuck off, you bean-flicker," Gloria murmurs, pulling her pillow tighter over her head. 

"Oh, c'mon, Mendoza, now you're just turnin' me on. Get up off your ass, we gotta talk," the redhead says, popping a squat on the toilet. 

Gloria sighs, tossing her pillow to the side. "What's up?" she groans, rubbing the heels of her palms against her eyes. 

Nicky grimaces. Gloria had been in SHU for what, three, four months? That  _ had  _ to fuck someone up, she could only wonder how or what Red was doing…

"Listen, I, uh, I know," the ginger says hurriedly, pushing all thoughts of Red out of her mind before they could bubble up to the surface. 

Gloria furrows her brow, exhaustion hardening her features. "Know what, honey?" 

Nicky leans in carefully, voice low and hushed. "I know what's goin' on with Duarte," she whispers. 

The older woman sighs, burying her head in her hands. "She tell you too?" 

Nicky nods solemnly, resting her hands on her elbows and letting out a deep, tremulous breath. "Yep. She told me what Hellman did."

The redhead gnaws on the inside of her cheek, raw, hot anger already bubbling up in her chest. "Real sick fuck," she growls, nausea burning in the back of her throat. 

"You know, she fucked up Daya real bad--" 

"Come on, Daya fucked herself up too--" 

"I know that," Gloria hisses through clenched teeth, anger pumping burning hot through her veins. She presses a hand against her chest, letting out a tremulous breath to calm herself. 

"I know that," she says again.  _ It ain't Daddy's fault,  _ she tries to tell herself.  _ She didn't deserve what Hellman did to her.  _

But there's a part of Gloria that thinks the bitch had it coming to her. Karma at its finest. 

And she hates herself for that. 

"Daya knows she was…well, y'know. She just doesn't know that she's pregnant," Nicky says awkwardly, twiddling her thumbs as she rests her hands in her lap. 

_ Raped.  _

God, that was such an  _ ugly  _ word.

Gloria nods slowly, raking a hand through her hair. "Okay, thank you for the weekly update. Can I go back to taking a nap now, or--" 

"She's getting early release," Nicky blurts out, the words rolling off her tongue with a rush of adrenaline that shoots straight up her spine. 

Gloria blinks, jaw dropping open in shock. "No shit. Early release?" 

"Yeah, for serious. Getting out tomorrow." 

"That's...wow. That's some fucked-up shit." 

"Hey, it's Litchfield, not the Peace Corps. Although they've done their fair share of shady shit too." 

Gloria lets out another deep, tremulous sigh. She just don't have it in her anymore. Empathy, kindness, that fire burning in her belly that's kept her alive all these years, anything but earth-pulling, bone deep exhaustion. 

"Hey, Nicky, I- I'm sorry, but I'm real tired. I tried to help her, but- but she didn't want it, and…" The older woman's voice trails off into another sigh.  _ Fuck,  _ she feels awful. 

"Yeah, I- I got it. Go to bed, babe, I'll catch you later," Nicky says, giving Gloria a wink.  _ Shit, I hope she's okay,  _ the redhead thinks to herself. 

*

Daddy presses her forehead against the shower wall and tries to breathe. 

It's surreal, really, to think that tomorrow she'll be  _ out,  _ able to do and say and think whatever the fuck she wants. She can wear blazers and pretty bras and Von Dutch trucker hats (not that she wants to, but hey, the option is still there.)

And she'll be  _ free _ . 

She will never, ever have to see  _ him  _ again. 

The thought of it makes a thrill of euphoria shoot up Daddy's stomach, gentle warmth spreading across her chest. She lets out a soft chuckle even as tears prick at the corners of her eyes. 

Daddy turns around and grabs her towel, wrapping it around her body.  _ That was my last shower here,  _ she thinks, and-- 

Daya is sitting on the bench near the showers, arms crossed over her chest and chin jutted out despite the broken down, puppy dog look etched on her face. 

"Yo," the younger woman says plaintively. "Can we talk?" 

"I don't have anything to say to you, Daya," Daddy deadpans, grabbing her sweatshirt and pulling it over her head. Her gut clenches with either guilt or anger- she can't tell which. 

"I'm sorry, okay?" 

She's _ what?  _

Daddy turns around, mouth open in shock. "What?"

"I'm sorry. It was my fault."

"It wasn't your fault, Daya. Not like you're the one who raped me," she says, nausea coiling hot in her gut at the memory. She can still feel  _ his  _ hot breath against her neck, hands against her skin, forcing himself against her,  _ inside her.  _

"Yeah, but...it's still lowkey my fault. Like, if I didn't break up with you--" 

"Daya, I'm leaving tomorrow. It doesn't matter anymore," Daddy blurts out before she can stop herself. 

The words hang thick and heavy in the air, in deafening, all consuming silence. 

"You're leavin'?" the younger woman says in disbelief, big eyes impossibly bigger. There's a tremble in her bottom lip that's so brief Daddy nearly misses it. 

"Yeah. Early release, courtesy of Hellman." 

"Shit. Seems like I showed up just in time, huh?" Daya says. She chews on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to smile despite the ball of regret in her stomach. 

"Yeah, I guess," Daddy murmurs. Daya's right, of course, no, it's not her fault that Hellman did what he did. 

But if she hadn't broken up with her, then--

Daya grabs the older woman by the wrist, then pulls her in for a hug. 

Daddy gasps, instinctively flinching away before relaxing in Daya's grip. She sighs, wrapping her arms around Daya's middle and pulling her closer.

"I'mma come visit you. Okay?" the older woman murmurs in Daya's ear.

"Okay," Daya says softly, slowly letting go. 

"Alright." And with that, Daddy kisses her, so soft and so gentle that she barely feels it happening. 

_ Goodbye,  _ Daya thinks at the warm press of Daddy's mouth against her own.  _ I love you.  _

"Goodnight," Daddy says when it's over, a smile tugging at her upper lip.

And she's gone. 

Daddy knocks on the doorway of Nicky's cell. "Yo, Carrot Top. Mind if I crash here tonight?"

"Jeez, you really know how to moisten a girl's panties. And no, you can't, 'cause this ain't your cell," Nicky says sordidly, waving her finger around.  _ That'd be a pretty fitting goodbye, getting thrown in SHU on your last day in prison. _

"I'm gonna be out of here tomorrow, Nichols. It's like the last day of class when everyone starts acting a fool because they know the teacher can't do anything about it." 

But more than anything, the last thing Daddy wants is to spend her last night in the room where  _ it  _ happened. The thought makes nausea curl low in her stomach. 

"Apples to oranges. But fine. Come on in and make yourself at home in Chateaux Nichols," Nicky says enthusiastically, gesturing at the top bunk with her magazine. 

Although she'll never admit it, the thought of sharing a room with Daddy doesn't sound so bad.

"I…okay."

*

"Are you nervous?" 

"Let's just say I wish they gave us brown pants instead of khaki." 

"Ah, yes, that's exactly how I want to remember you-- shitting yourself from nerves." 

"Don't forget throwing up from nerves too." 

"Ah, how could I forget?"

They've been talking for the past few hours, neither of them able to sleep. 

"Hey, what's the first thing you're gonna do on the outside?" Nicky asks, planting the soles of her feet against the bottom of the bunk above her. 

"Get rid of it," Daddy says, her voice suddenly hoarse and strained. She folds her hands over her stomach and stares at the ceiling, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth until she tastes blood. 

"I, uh...I was thinkin' more like get a cup of coffee," the redhead mutters, running her hands over her face. Tension pools low in her stomach, tears blooming at the corners of her eyes.  _ Fuck,  _ she feels horrible for Daddy…

"I'm still so sorry that happened to you," she offers gently. And she is. 

"I'm a big girl. I'll be fine."

"Okay, well, if you ever need me, I'm only a glass pane and incredibly invasive strip search away." 

"Don't they only do strip searches in Minimum?"

"Come on man, I'm tryin' to lighten the mood here." 

Daddy sighs, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "That's something I'm going to miss," she mutters. 

"Yeah? What else?" Nicky inquires, tilting her head to the side and hiking up her blanket to her chest. 

"The jello they got here. Everything else tastes like shit, but that jello is fuckin' bomb. And Adeola. I'm going to miss that bitch." 

Daddy leans over her bunk, arching an eyebrow at Nicky. "What about you, Pippi Longstocking?"

Nicky sucks her teeth, aching loneliness suddenly spreading through her chest. "Yeah, uh, I don't have much to miss around here." 

"What about Preggo? And your scary Russian mommy?" 

Nicky worries her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. Shit, they both might as well be gone completely…

"Don't wanna think about 'em right now," she whispers. 

And it's true, she doesn't, because every time she does she's reminded of Red's hair being ripped off her head and the way she looked at Nicky from the AD-Seg cell, or smacking the side of Lorna's head, calling her every name but a child of God.

"Hey," Daddy says softly. "You look pretty lonely down there." 

Nicky stares at the bottom of the bunk above her, the pounding in her chest matching the sudden, insistent pounding between her legs. 

"Get down here and fuck me," she demands, wetness already coating the insides of her thighs. 

_ Yep. Vause is right. I got a two track mind. _

In a flash, Daddy's on top of her, planting aggressive kisses across her cheeks, mouth, chin, neck. 

"This okay?" Daddy manages to ask, tugging at Nicky's sweatpants. Nicky nods her assent, already knowing what she's asking for.

Daddy needs this. She needs to take back what Hellman stole from her, she needs to prove to herself that she's  _ fine,  _ she's far from broken. 

She kisses her way down Nicky's body, running her tongue over pale flesh, freckle-spattered skin. She rips off Nicky's underwear and grabs her hips and  _ fuck she tastes so good,  _ just like she did last year but last year seems so far away now. 

"Shit," Nicky hisses, propping herself up on her elbows and  _ watching,  _ watching her thighs slung over Daddy's shoulders and a shock of bleached-blonde hair and fingers sliding up her torso to her breasts.

Sure, Nicky will be  _ fucked  _ (literally) before she relinquishes her 'Resident Power Top of Litchfield' status. 

But Daddy's tongue between her legs is doing things even Boo would find sinful, so Nicky bites down on her palm and lets her head fall back against the pillows. 

"Don't stop," the redhead whispers, grabbing the back of Daddy's head with her hand. Daddy obliges, obediently lapping at Nicky's clit and tightening her hold on her thighs. 

_ Did she ever do this to Daya?  _ Nicky fleetingly thinks between hard and fast surges of pleasure, deciding that she doesn't give a rat's ass what Daddy used to do to Daya. 

_ Sorry, Diaz, she's mine now.  _

Daddy's core pulses around nothing, streams of wetness running down her thighs. Shit, she's probably soaked through her sweatpants by now, but that's the last thing on her mind as Nicky's hips buck against her mouth, riding out her orgasm. 

"Are you sure?" Nicky whispers after she comes, Daddy grabbing her by the chin and crushing their lips together. 

"Yeah," the Latina murmurs, pulling Nicky on top of her and tangling her hands in a mess of ginger curls. 

"I'll be gentle," Nicky promises, spreading those shaking thighs apart and teasing her finger along slickness and heat.

"Fuck being gentle," Daddy growls. She wants this, wants this  _ so bad,  _ wants Nicky to make her head spin until she forgets her own name, forgets everything that Hellman has done to her. 

"Tell me if you need to stop, okay?" Nicky says breathlessly. 

"I won't need to stop," Daddy whispers, kissing Nicky fiercely. She grabs Nicky's wrist, pulling her in deeper, and--

"Fuck," Nicky groans, breath hot against the Latina's neck, the words stumbling out from her mouth against her will. She curls a finger inside of Daddy and relishes the noise it earns, something between a whine and a growl that instantly makes her wet all over again. 

"You're so wet," the redhead whispers, grinding her palm against Daddy's clit. 

And then,  _ oh fuck,  _ Nicky feels fingers dancing along the end of her nightshirt, then lower, then lower, until-- 

"Not-- not fair," Nicky chokes out, feeling Daddy's infuriating smirk against the column of her neck. But then, fingers glide over her sensitive clit, then dip inside  _ just  _ right, and Nicky sees  _ stars,  _ gasping and shaking and coming for the second time in a matter of moments. 

"Nicky," Daddy gasps, breathless as she presses her forehead against Nicky's sternum, clamping down on insistently moving fingers before throwing her head back in ecstasy, chest arching against the redhead's body.

She's coming because of _Nicky_ and _with_ Nicky and it feels so fucking good and if this is a dream, she never wants to wake up.

"You good?" Nicky blurts out when they're done. 

"Yeah, why?" the Latina says incredulously. 

"Well, uh, I mean… y'know--" 

"Nicky, I'm good. Don't worry about me."

"Are you sure? I'm so sorry, we shouldn't, I shouldn't--" 

"Fucking shit, Nichols. If you keep on apologizing I'm gonna have to sit on your face to shut you up," Daddy groans, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. 

Nicky lets out a small gasp at Daddy's offer, the pounding between her thighs increasing again. 

"Do it." 

"Huh?" Daddy says. 

"Sit on my face." 

"For serious?" 

"For serious." 

Nicky cocks an eyebrow. "What? Like it's your first time sitting on my face?" 

That gets her exactly what she wants. 

Daddy tugs off her own underwear and climbs up Nicky's body in one quick motion, thighs framing the redhead's face and palms flat against the mattress for balance. 

"You sure?" Daddy whispers, but her thighs are shaking her heart is pounding  _ Nicky please I just want you to fuck me  _

"C'mere," Nicky croons, grabbing Daddy firmly by the hips and bringing her down to her mouth. 

"Fuck," Daddy breathes as Nicky's tongue flicks against her folds, almost there but not close enough, and-- 

She grabs Nicky by the hair. "Don't make me beg, baby," she growls, grinding her core against Nicky's mouth.  _ Jesus, that tongue... _

The redhead makes a small hum of agreement that reverberates up Daddy's center, a hot spike of pleasure that makes her thighs shake uncontrollably on either side of Nicky's face. 

_ Shit,  _ Nicky muses silently.  _ This is the second time I'm going down on a pregnant chick in the last year...is this a burgeoning fetish of mine?  _

  
  


But that doesn't matter now. What matters is that Daddy's grinding against her mouth, clit throbbing against Nicky's tongue, wetness smearing across her chin.

  
  


"Nicky, fuck, fuck,  _ fuck  _ I'm coming," Daddy groans, and even though it's faster than either of them would have liked, it's so fucking _ perfect. _

When it's over, Daddy climbs off of her, chest rising and falling hard and fast. She looks so  _ beautiful  _ like that and Nicky can't help herself, grabbing her by the chin and kissing her like a woman starving. 

Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be horrible and terrible and Daddy will walk out of here and Nicky will not. 

But for now, as they fall asleep in each other's arms, that doesn't matter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHH! 
> 
> Yep. I did it. I went there. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Chapter sixteen will be up soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief reference to r*pe.

They are standing in front of D-Block's gate, Daddy's few possessions slung over her shoulder in a mesh bag. 

It's the day of Daddy's release- the one thing that Nicky's been dreading ever since she heard those terrible words  _ I'm getting out.  _

Nicky does not know what's going to happen when Daddy walks out from those iron bars, this concrete box. 

Maybe she'll find someone else. Hell, maybe Nicky herself will find someone else, someone to ease the ache of loneliness deep in her bones. 

Maybe it will all go terribly, horribly wrong. Nicky doesn't know that for certain either. Daddy could fuck up, make a mistake, and end back up here in a couple weeks with hollow eyes and shaking hands. 

But what Nicky does know is that she can feel her heart splitting in two. 

"Hey, um, I'll let you say goodbye to your fan club first," Nicky says before the tears come, jerking her head in the direction of Annalisa, Swope, and Adeola behind her. 

Daddy gives her a weak smile. "Thanks," she whispers. 

"What am I gonna do without you?" Annalisa sobs, throwing her scrawny frame into Daddy's arms. 

"Chill out, babe. You'll be fine," Daddy murmurs soothingly into her ear, rubbing circles on the peroxide blonde's back. Swope is next, sobbing unintelligibly into the crook of Daddy's neck. 

"Aw, baby, I'll miss you too," Daddy croons, pressing a gentle kiss on the other woman's forehead. Nicky feels a hot spike of jealousy shoot up her spine, clenching her jaw and grinding her teeth together. 

_ Calm your tits, Nichols,  _ she says to herself.  _ It's all just for show, besides, there's nothing to be jealous of in the first place. Not like you're anything more than fuck buddies with a lot of unnecessary angst as a side dish.  _

"Oh, Daddy. How I will miss you dearly," Adeola says, pulling in the other woman for a hug and clapping her on the back. She frowns, then looks around her. 

"What?" Daddy asks, her brow furrowing in confusion. 

"I just realized I'm the only person within six feet you haven't fingered," Adeola murmurs, rubbing her forehead in shock. 

Annalisa and Swope turn their gaze towards Nicky, fixing her with a hateful glare. 

The redhead sheepishly bites her lower lip and looks down at the ground, desperately wishing the concrete would open up and swallow her whole. 

Daddy lets out a scoff of embarrassment, rubbing the back of her neck before turning back to Nicky. 

"So, uh. This is it, huh?" Nicky says quietly, tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill past her lids.  _ Damnit.  _ And she swore she wasn't gonna cry today. 

Daddy nods, taking the redhead's hands in her own. "Yeah. This is it." 

Nicky clears her throat, forcing away the tears. "Where's your gal pal?" 

"I said goodbye to her yesterday in the showers." 

"With or without tongue?" the redhead whispers, giving the Latina a wink. 

Daddy rolls her eyes. "Very funny, Nichols." 

"Duarte, let's go," Stefanovic demands. "We don't got all day." 

Daddy rolls her eyes, then grabs Nicky by the wrist. "Hey, uh, I'm gonna try and get on your visitation list," she says hurriedly. 

"Okay, okay, cool, and--"

"You got my number, right?"

"Yeah, I'll call you--" 

"Duarte, I said  _ move _ ," Stefanovic snaps. "You're blowin' my gains here, I need to get to 10,000 steps by the end of the day." 

Daddy shoots an annoyed glance behind her. "That's my cue. I should get my ass outta here before they change their mind." 

"Yeah. I'll see ya around." Nicky pauses and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. "Or not, as the case may be," she adds with a humorless chuckle. 

Daddy fixes Nicky with a stare, pupils lust blown and lips barely parted. 

And before the redhead can make any sort of sarcastic wisecrack about  _ Jesus, Duarte, you scared you're gonna forget about me?  _ or  _ Hey, you heard the man, you're blowing his gains here,  _ Daddy's  _ kissing _ her, hard and fast. 

It's over just as quickly as it begins, the only reminders being the lingering warmth of Daddy's hands on Nicky's skin and the pulsing sting in her bottom lip. 

*

It's so fucking  _ cold.  _

Daddy's been waiting for her ride for a good twenty minutes, bottom lip chewed bloody from worrying it between her teeth. The harsh New York wind chilled her to the bone, making her shiver and clamp her hands around her middle. 

Shit. Maybe she should go back in, see if they'd take her for a few more days. Surely they wouldn't mind...

Daddy stares into the distance, squinting her eyes and shielding her face against the sun. Shit, was that-- 

"Dominga!" 

It was her mother. Yes, her mother in the same beaten-down, ugly-ass Honda Civic that she'd had for fifteen years, but that was her _ mother _ . 

"Mom? I thought you weren't gonna show up," she says, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

"Well, who else was gonna come and get your little ass? Get in before I leave you here," her mother says, jerking her head in the direction of the passenger seat. 

"Okay,  _ damn _ ." 

_ Shit. That's definitely her. _

"So. How you doin'?" Her mother says, reaching over and taking one of Daddy's hands in her own. 

"I...I don't know. Happy, I guess. Like how you feel when you get out of prison," Daddy mutters sullenly, staring out of the car window. She squints against the rays of the sun, whispering curses under her breath. 

"Well, I wouldn't know how that feels, honey. But now that you're out..." 

"I'm on parole, Mom, I can't get drunk with you yet," Daddy says, pinching the bridge of her nose. Although that  _ did  _ sound really fun.

"No, no, I know that. But I mean gettin' me some grandkids." 

Daddy's stomach rolls with a fresh burst of nausea, heart pounding painfully within her chest. 

"Uh...nah, I don't think so," she murmurs. Fuck, that was the  _ last  _ thing she wanted to think of right now, that proof of what Hellman had done was growing inside her. 

"What? You're 33, Dominga, you still got time. Besides, gays can have babies now, right?" 

"Mom. Drop it," Daddy says through gritted teeth, knuckles turning white as she dug her nails in the palm of her hand. 

"I'm just saying, Dominga, I--" 

"Can you shut the  _ fuck _ up?" 

The words fly out of Daddy's mouth before she can stop them, almost without her consent. 

Kristina pulls over to the side of the road and stops the car. 

"What the fuck did you just say to me?" 

For a split second, Daddy thinks she's going to get popped across the back of the head. She sucks in a breath, hands shaking in her lap as she forces out an apology. 

"I'm sorry, Mom, I'm just...going through some shit right now," she mutters. 

_ Yeah, no big deal, Mom. Got raped by a psychotic, corrupt guard, oh and I'm pregnant with your devil spawn grandbaby. See? Just a regular Tuesday. _

"It's fine, just don't be pushing your luck with me," Kristina says pointedly, shooting Daddy a look of warning. 

Daddy lets out a tremulous exhale.  _ Good to know I ain't gonna be slapped back to 6th grade.  _ "Speaking of luck. Am I gonna be staying with you?" 

"That's the dumbest fuckin' question I've ever heard. What, you think I'm gonna drop you off at the Y.M.C.A?" 

"The Y.M.C.A is just for guys, Mama."

"You get the point. Yes, you're staying with me. You get to sleep in your old bedroom, it'll be fun!" 

"Did you keep those creepy-ass dolls?" 

"Uh, yeah, of course." 

"Oh fuck no, those are haunted. I'm not staying there." 

"Yo, Siri, give me directions to the nearest homeless shelter--"

"Okay, okay, fine."

*

Nicky lay down on the library floor, eyes burning from the unrelenting fluorescent lighting. 

Daddy was gone now. Well, not  _ gone  _ gone, not  _ six feet under _ gone, but still gone. 

Shit. Who was gonna sit on her face now?

Well, that was a dumb question, she had plenty of contenders. 

"Nicky?" 

The redhead sits up on her elbows, eyes widening in surprise. 

"Hey, Red. How they hangin'?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. 

Red rolls her eyes, walking over and plopping down next to the ginger. 

"Like ping pong balls in a sock. What are you doing here,  _ dochenka _ ?" 

"Uh, just vibing, as the young kids say. Gloria didn't tell me you got out of the SHU." 

"It got shut down, they said."

"About damn time," Nicky mutters. She had to admit though, she was going to miss all those ceiling tiles she'd made friends with over time. 

"Now, apart from  _ just vibing,  _ what are you doing? I've never seen you in a library before, so you must be up to something," Red says, elbowing Nicky in the side. 

Nicky lets out a deep, tremulous sigh. There was no fuckin' way she was going to tell Red about everything that had happened the past few months, she'd get herself a Soviet era beatdown for sure. 

"My...friend left today." 

There. That was close enough to the truth. 

"What friend? Someone I know, maybe?"

"Daddy? D-Block? Barb's minion? Bleached blonde hair?" 

"Oh, that little  _ klitor lizun _ ? She had the balls to hit on me once. Called me a GILF, whatever that means," Red spits disdainfully. 

"Uh, it means...Great individual, loving friend. She was probably just trying to be nice," Nicky says, shuddering at the mental image she had just received.

"You know, she used to come into my store," the older woman says after a moment. 

"No shit? When?" 

"When she was a teenager. Apricot  _ pirozhkis _ , she used to have." 

"For serious?" Nicky asks, eyes and mouth both wide in shock. 

"For very serious. I never forget a customer," 

"Was she a good tipper?" 

"You're fucking kidding. Terrible." 

Nicky buries her face in the crook of Red's shoulder, laughing until tears are leaking from the corners of her eyes. 

God, she's missed this. 

*

"Hey, honey, you need anything?" Kristina asks, leaning against the doorway of Daddy's room. 

Daddy stares off into the distance, arms wrapped around her knees. There's an aching loneliness deep in her stomach, a pit of sadness in her chest. 

It's so fucking strange-- she's been in  _ that place  _ for six entire years, over half a decade. And  _ here, _ in this world, she feels more alone than she ever has. 

Yes, prison was awful, terrible, horrible. 

But in there, she had  _ people _ . She had Barb's fingers running through her hair, Adeola's impossibly good hooch, and really,  _ really  _ fucking delicious jello. 

Out here? She has jack shit. 

"No, I'm good," she whispers.  _ Liar.  _

"Are you sure?" Kristina says gently. Obviously, her mother's not buying her shit, and Daddy doesn't blame her. 

"Yeah." 

"Okay. Uh, goodnight," her mother murmurs, closing the door with a soft  _ click  _ behind her. 

Daddy lets out a deep, tremulous breath that chills her to the core, then pulls her pillow closer. 

She pretends it's Nicky. 

*

Nicky climbs into her pathetic excuse for a bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. 

It's so incredibly, unfathomably,  _ horribly  _ lonely in here. Nicky knows that deep and well and true. She's learned that from sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, going down on that  _ fucking _ C.O. just for a hit, Red staring at her with broken, hopeless eyes from behind the glass pane of her Ad-Seg cell. 

But it seems that much more unbearable now that _ she's  _ not here, and Nicky is, and there is nothing she can do about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> Also, I'm kind of imagining Daddy's mom to be Camila Vargas from Queen of the South. Don't know why, just...kinda popped into my head.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for r*pe. TW for miscarriage. TW for drug overdose. Please please please be careful reading.

_"You think you can fuck me over, you little cunt?"_

_Hellman shoves her down to the mattress, undoing his belt buckle and tearing off her sweatpants in one sickening movement._

Oh fuck oh fuck this is happening this is happening, _Daddy thinks to herself, shaking with silent sobs of fear as Hellman rips off her underwear._

_And then his hands are on her hips, and he's--_

_Daddy doesn't realize she's screaming until he growls_ shut the fuck up _in her ear._

This can't be real, _she thinks._ This is a bad dream. This is a bad fucking dream. 

_But then Hellman lets out a long, guttural groan of garbled praise, and Daddy feels something disgustingly, horribly warm inside her, and--_

Daddy wakes up with a start, heart racing so hard it makes her chest ache. Her skin is slick with sweat, hands clammy and cold and shaking. 

_Fuck._

_Wait, no, this ain't Litchfield-- where the fuck am I?_

Everything came rushing back at once-- she had been released. Litchfield was _hundreds_ of miles away, and so was Hellman, and _fuck,_ so was Nicky and all the people she loved.

Daddy exhales slowly, burying her head in her hands. It had felt so _real,_ like she was back there in _that_ place, with _him_ crushing her against the mattress. 

And that horrible, splitting pain-- 

She jumps up from her bed, throwing her door open. She couldn't bear to think about this anymore. 

Kristina was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping from a comically large coffee mug. 

"Hey, you're up. How you doin'?" 

"I'm fine, Mama," Daddy murmurs. She'd gotten far too used to saying that over the past three months. 

"It's your first full day out. What you wanna do?" 

Daddy shakes her head listlessly. "I don't know. You decide for me."

"We could get our nails done. Oh, no, you're a lesbian, you can't do that. Uh…" 

"Can we just stay home? Watch some shitty TV?" Daddy asks, feeling too... _raw_ to do anything else. The idea of being around other people made her nauseous. 

"Of course, honey, whatever you want. When do you gotta meet with your, uh...parole guy?" 

"Parole _lady_. And next week."

"And she'll want you to get a job, right?" 

"If I don't get a job within the next three weeks, that's a breach of parole. Which means my ass will get shipped back to Litchfield." _And I'll have to see_ him _again._

"Oh, shit."

"No shit."

"I'll talk to your cousin. He'll have something for you, probably. Or he'll know someone that does," Kristina says gently, reaching out and gently stroking her thumb over her daughter's hand. 

"Okay," Daddy murmurs, familiar nausea already pooling low in her stomach. Shit, she's getting sick _again,_ and that dream didn't help either...

"You good?" Her mother asks, but Daddy's already racing to the bathroom, pushing the door open and slamming it shut behind her. 

Daddy spits the last of the sour bile into the toilet, hands pulling at her bleached blonde locks until it burned. She still couldn't believe that she was pregnant, that Hellman had done that to her. 

And she hoped it haunted him. She hoped he hated himself, that the guilt was eating away at him from the inside. 

But given that Hellman was Hellman, she knew better than to think that was a possibility. 

Daddy felt something wet and warm between her legs, her eyes widening in confusion. Jesus, had she _pissed_ herself? 

_Oh, no._

_Nononono._

The scarlet coating her inner thighs told her that what was happening was _far_ worse. 

  
  


*

Daya slams shut the iron bars behind her and steps into the shower. 

She wants to forget everything that's happened the last few months, no, the last few _years_.

She wants to forget what it's like to love someone, she wants to forget what a monster she's become. That she has a daughter on the outside that's calling someone else 'Mommy', that she's responsible for the only person she loves in here for getting _raped_. 

Daya doesn't want to die, not exactly. 

But when she thinks about slipping into eternal sleep, she realizes that's not such a terrible idea. 

Daya plunges the needle into her skin and closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, she nearly screams. 

_John_ is sitting across from her, right underneath the shower head. For a second, she thinks about turning it on, but given that this is just some fucked up figment of her imagination, that wouldn't do anything. 

"C'mon, Daya," he croons gently. He is looking at her with so much love, love she never thought she'd see again. "This isn't you, babe." 

"You don't know _shit_ about _shit_ ," Daya spits. All she wants is to grab his skull and smash it against the _fucking wall._

"Please, Daya. Think about our baby. Do you think he'd want to see you like this?" 

" _She_ . It's a _she_." 

And to think he doesn't even know that. Fucking _pendejo._

"Daya, please," he whispers. "Don't do this." 

But the light is already slipping away.

Nicky steps out of the shower, wrapping her towel around her body. The shower block is totally empty save for her, which means a part of her wants to prance around and practice her 80s music video choreography skills. 

But then again, she's got shit to do, so that would have to wait for the outside. 

Nicky's just finished getting dressed when she hears a faint, barely audible groan. 

"Who's there?" she calls, heart already beginning to pound.

"You up for a three-way?" she calls again. 

Another faint groan is Nicky's only response. 

Nicky furrows her brow, walking in the direction of the voice. 

What she sees makes her heart drop to her stomach. 

_Daya_ is slumped against the wall, head rolling to the side as a syringe sticks out of her arm. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of her mouth, half-lidded eyes dead. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Nicky gasps. She knows an OD when she sees one, and _this_ is a fucking OD. 

"SOMEONE GET SOME FUCKING HELP!" she screams, racing back to Daya and slapping her across the face. 

"Daya," she growls through gritted teeth, fingers digging into Daya's jaw. "Don't you fuckin' die on me, babe, you're one of the few people I got left in here." 

"Move away, inmate," McCullough snarls, shoving Nicky to the side. She presses two fingers against Daya's neck, shouting something into her walkie-talkie, and _everything goes blank._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does Daya die? I'm really keeping y'all on a cliffhanger here.
> 
> This was probably the saddest chapter yet. I'm sorry, you guys. Go do what you need to do to feel better💞take care of yourselves!!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I know this chapter is pretty short, and it took me a HOT minute to publish it-- I just had a difficult time trying to figure out how/where it would go. 
> 
> TW for briefly implied miscarriage.

Nicky walks into her cell, fumbling for her phone in the side of her mattress. No, it wasn't the  _ best  _ hiding place ever but it'd be fine for now.

The redhead reaches inside her shirt, pulling out Daddy's number from her bra.  _ Also  _ not the best hiding place, but it would  _ also  _ have to do for now. 

"Fuckin' gross sweaty tit sweat," the ginger mutters. She dials in the number and holds the phone up to her ear. 

_ "Hello?"  _

"Hey, uh, is this...Dominga Duarte?"  _ Jesus Christ. This is so stupid.  _

_ "No, this is her mother. Is this Louisa? You don't even  _ know  _ how single my daughter is, honey, I even had to create a fake Tinder profile for her. Ridiculous, right?"  _

"I- uh, no ma'am--" 

Nicky hears a bunch of mumbled, insistent protests from the other end of the line,  _ give me the damn phone, Mother,  _ being the loudest. 

_ "Yo. Nicky?"  _

Nicky nearly melts at the sound of Daddy's voice, raspy and low and just so  _ fucking  _ addictive. The redhead clears her throat, forcing herself to find her voice. And Nicky _ knows  _ addictive. 

"Hey, man. I'm sorry it took me so long to call," the ginger stammers out. Her heart pounds.  _ This is actually happening. We're actually talking.  _

_ "Yeah, uh...it's fine." _

"Listen, I-- I need to tell you something," Nicky whispers, taking a sweeping glance behind her to make sure no one's listening. 

Daddy sighs, stomach twisting painfully as she rubs a hand over her forehead.  _ "I need to tell you something too." _

"You go first, Duarte."

_ "No, no, you go, Nicky." _

"No, I  _ insist _ ." 

Silence blares from the other end of the line. Nicky swallows the bile in the back of her throat, the words bursting forward from her mouth without her own volition. 

"Daya overdosed." 

_ "I lost the baby-- what the fuck?" _

"Daya overdosed. Last night, it was." 

_ "I-is she alive?" _

"Yeah, best I know," Nicky says, shuddering at the not-so distant thought of Daya's lifeless, listless gaze staring off into nothingness. 

_ "Was it intentional?" _

"Looks like it, man." 

_ "Do you know why?" _

"She's gone through a lot of shit, Duarte. Made bad decisions, fucked herself up a lot. This was kind of inevitable, y'know?" 

Daddy's heart races, horrible possibilities relentlessly pounding through her head.  _ "What if it was because of me?" _ she stammers out. 

"That doesn't matter. What matters is that  _ she  _ decided to do that shit to herself. Ain't no one's fault but hers." 

_ "Fuck."  _

"I know. It sucks. Sucks big hairy throbbing dick," Nicky murmurs, running a shaking hand over her face. Poor Daya. No, the girl wasn't entirely innocent, but  _ fuck--  _

Nicky's heart sinks. "Wait, did you say you lost the baby?" 

_ "Yeah. I did."  _

"I'm sorry, man. That's awful," the ginger whispers. As if Duarte hasn't dealt with enough bullshit the past couple months, life just  _ had  _ to hand her another fucked-up lemon. 

_ "It was for the best," _ Duarte murmurs. Maybe if she says it enough times, she'll really believe it. 

"Well, yeah, but still." 

_ "I wouldn't wanna look at my kid everyday and see Hellman. Believe me, Nicky, it was for the best."  _

"Yeah, I get that, but if you ever need to talk--" 

_ "I won't. What else is going on?"  _

"What do you think this is, the 24/7 Litchfield Gossip Line? I mean, you're right, but I'm still a little offended." Nicky hears a chortle from the other end of the line that makes her grin.

"Uh, yeah, no. Not a whole lot goin' on, but then again it's only been a couple days. The girls miss you a lot. Me, not so much."

_ "You happy to be rid of me, Nichols?" _

"Oh, just overjoyed like you wouldn't believe."

_ "I guess gingers really  _ don't _ have a soul." _

"Took you that long to realize?" 

Daddy chuckles again, and an easy warmth spreads through Nicky's chest. 

"Do you wanna come visit me?" Nicky blurts out before she can stop herself, immediately biting her tongue as if that'll take back what she just said. She digs her nails into her palms, leaving angry red marks in their wake. 

_ "I, uh. Yeah. I- I mean, I want to, but I don't know if they'll let me. My parole lady's a real fuckin' hard-ass."  _

"Well, Chapman's parole lady let her visit Vause, so maybe--" 

_ "Who and who?"  _

Nicky lets out a deep sigh. "Kickball White Girl and Sexy Librarian." 

_ "Ah. Gotcha."  _

Nicky lets out a low chuckle, flinching at the sudden blare from the intercom spewing some bullshit about 'count time.' 

The redhead sighs. "Hey, I gotta go. You know how prison is." 

Duarte laughs from the other end of the line.  _ "Yeah, I fuckin' do. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"  _

"Okay, bye. Love you," the redhead says, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she hangs up the call. 

_ Wait.  _

"FUCK!" Nicky screeches, throwing her phone across the cell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm REALLY looking forward to writing a Duachols (Duarhols?) visitation scene. Thank you for reading as always :) 💓


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